Together We Are Stronger than One
by zoedigz13
Summary: Zoya Tabris is an Alienage rogue with the gift of magic. But after her mother's death, her training ended and she was forced to continue learning alone. Though her gifts are many, this elf will have to overcome many obstacles if Ferelden is to be saved from the greatest threat in four ages. DA and DA2 cast, AU elements. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N - To those who are discovering this story for the first time, I bid you welcome! To those who read the previous version and are returning, I'm delighted you decided to give this story another read. The overall story/plot will be the same as what was previously posted, but with the help of my wonderful beta reader Eve Hawke (be sure to check her out if you haven't already done so) the telling of the story should be vastly improved. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Reviews are welcome and appreciated :)_**

Zoya Tabris was bored. She fidgeted in the worn, wooden chair as she mindlessly flipped through the pages of the book in front of her. Valendrian, the Alienage's hahren or elder, had kept Zoya at her studies for most of the day. She yawned and stretched, rubbing roughly at her eyes. Sitting in front of these books since early this morning had made her bottom numb, her eyes burn, and the muscles between her shoulders knot.

Admittedly, she had only herself, and maybe a few too many pints of ale and the influence of her cousins, to blame for her current situation. They thought it was a brilliant idea at the time - a simple trap that dumped a bucket of water on the first person to go through the Alienage gate that morning. It would be perfect for exacting revenge on two people in particular, the foul-mouthed gate guard and the uppity Orlesian elf, Erlina, who was usually first through the gate every morning. Day after day, the guard had reviled each elf that passed through the gate with his vulgar thoughts. As he saw it, every male elf was a worthless, lazy drunk and every female elf was a disease-ridden whore. But it was Erlina's disparaging remarks and contemptuous attitude toward her fellow elves that were most hurtful. Erlina thought she was better than everyone else because she was one of Queen Anora's handmaidens, and that attitude had not endeared her to her new neighbors.

Zoya and her cousins, Shianni and Soris, had giggled like maniacs as they snuck out after curfew and climbed the gate to set the bucket in place. Zoya had laughed so hard at her cousins' ideas for other things that could be in the bucket that she had actually fallen off the gate. How was she to know that the guard would have no sense of humor, and instead of the Orlesian elf, it would be Valendrian who first left the Alienage that morning? And who could have guessed the Captain of the Guard would have been in the splash zone?

The fallout had been far greater than she could have ever anticipated. At first, it was funny to see the guard yelling and carrying on as if it had been acid in the bucket instead of just water. But she realized the trouble their prank had caused when she saw the serious looks on Valendrian's and the Captain's faces; and then the Captain had ordered the elves in the vicinity of the gate to be rounded up for questioning. Zoya had quickly stepped forward to take responsibility for their actions, and Shianni had hastily joined her. She was sure Soris would have turned himself in as well, but he was safely passed out in bed at home. They had waited anxiously as the captain and the elder discussed, and finally settled on, a suitable punishment. Zoya was sure they were headed for the stocks, but Valendrian had managed to convince the Captain to let _him_ administer their punishment.

If Zoya could have just accepted her assigned punishment, she would have been done with it by now. But Valendrian had caught her trying to bribe Shianni - her cousin had been assigned washing the orphanage's laundry as punishment - into switching places with her. As a reward, her half day of study had become a full day. She sighed loudly, her fingers drumming on the scarred surface of the table and her feet kicking its legs. There was no need to look up to feel the brunt of Valendrian's disapproving scowl.

Zoya arranged her face into an expression she hoped was sufficiently meek, "Elder, I believe I have learned my lesson."

"Do tell." Valendrian looked dubious as he regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

Zoya was careful to keep her eyes focused on the books in front of her and her face neutral as she recited what she thought he would want to hear. "I must always consider the consequences of my actions. They affect everyone around me - what affects one affects all." Zoya looked up at the elder who was nodding at her wisely. She knew she should quiet her tongue and leave well enough alone, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. "And I learned that humans tend to overreact and I shouldn't be so quick to step forward and admit my guilt. And next time I'll make sure that I position the bucket so it looks like the humans set the trap."

Valendrian cleared his throat, his voice terse as he chastised her "Your quick tongue will either be your salvation or doom. Only you can decide which." Valendrian shook his head sadly, "Zoya, you have always been a bright child, but you _need _to think before you act. I don't think you truly appreciate the seriousness of the situation. We are perched on the edge of an abyss. Tensions between our people and the humans run high. We don't know what will push either group over the edge." Valendrian lay his hands on her shoulders and looked at her sternly. "Your cousins look to you for guidance. You need to set a better example."

Her eyes avoided Valendrian's as the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a tense grin. "If it weren't for my influence, there would have been far worse in that bucket, you know."

Valendrian threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Zoya Tabris, I will not..." A loud knocking interrupted him. Zoya felt glad for the distraction. The elder was overreacting as badly as the humans - it was _just_ a little prank.

Valendrian rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily. "Enter."

The door opened, and sunlight and fresh air streamed into the room. Zoya inhaled deeply, reveling in the feel of sunshine on her skin and wishing she was outside, or at least anywhere she wouldn't be stuck studying or listening to the elder's lectures. The silhouette in the open doorway told her that the visitor was elven and male. It wasn't until the brightness was closed off again and the figure moved toward her that she recognized her father, Cyrion Tabris.

Zoya threw herself at Cyrion, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheeks enthusiastically. It had been nearly a month since Cyrion had left with his employer on a trading caravan to Highever, and she had missed him terribly.

Cyrion smiled at her, a calloused hand reaching up to stroke her cheek. "I missed you too, my girl."

"How was your trip, Cyrion? Uneventful I hope? Everything well in the Highever Alienage?" Valendrian pulled a chair from the table and gestured for Cyrion to take a seat. "Zoya, clear some space for your father and get him a drink."

Zoya stacked the scattered books to one side of the table and hurried to the sideboard to retrieve a bottle of mead, two cups and a chunk of sweet bread. She set the cups in front of Cyrion and Valendrian, filling them quickly.

"Yes, mostly uneventful. We passed a lot of soldiers on their way to Ostagar. Word on the road was that darkspawn are massing in the Wilds south of Ostagar and the King is sending troops to fight them." Cyrion paused for a drink, then broke off a chunk of bread.

"Are the Grey Wardens there?" Zoya asked excitedly. Since Zoya's earliest memories, her mother Adaia had filled her ears with tales of the Grey Wardens and their tireless battles against darkspawn. Valendrian's books held even more stories and she knew them all by heart. She'd gobbled them as eagerly as any starving urchin. Duncan, Ferelden's Warden Commander, had visited the Alienage often in her childhood. These visits usually resulted in her mother leaving her for weeks at a time, but Zoya had always trusted that Duncan would bring Adaia back to her. A small, wistful smile crossed her face as she recalled how each trinket he presented to her on his return was accompanied by a story of adventure. He called her his little magpie, laughing as she flitted off to hide every treasure. Duncan's visits comprised some of her favorite memories, but after her mother's death Duncan had stopped coming.

At the mention of the Grey Wardens, Cyrion slammed the cup down on the table hard enough to chip its base and frowned at her. His voice was tense when he answered, "I would imagine so." Cyrion had never bothered to hide his dislike of the Grey Wardens and of Duncan in particular. He shifted his gaze from Zoya back to Valendrian as he delivered his report, "Anyway, we did brisk trade with the soldiers on the road. The new hahren in Highever is adjusting quickly to his position and is eager for continued relations and trade with us. Things are better in the Alienage now that the wasting sickness has passed. They didn't lose nearly as many as the last outbreak. Teyrn Bryce sent in healers early this time, which made a big difference. The hahren is optimistic for a peaceful and productive future. It sounds like the teyrn's daughter, who is going to be running things while her father and brother are in Ostagar, is sympathetic to elves and the Alienage." Cyrion paused and regarded Zoya with a meaningful look. "And, I was able to secure a match for Zoya while I was there."

"You what!" Zoya knocked into the stack of books in her surprise, sending them tumbling across the floor. Her stomach clenched and her hand flew to her mouth as the meager contents of her stomach rose into her throat.

"It's time for you to marry, my girl. I've let you remain a child far longer than I should have. And the Highever Alienage is a much safer place. I think you'll be happy with your husband-to-be. He's the youngest son of a blacksmith and very skilled at his trade. He made this dagger, in fact; perhaps you'd like it? I wouldn't let him see you carrying it, though, since I didn't tell him of your interest in weapons." Cyrion pulled the sheathed dagger from where it was hidden inside his tunic and handed it to her.

Zoya was surprised to see her father carrying a dagger, let alone giving it to her. Cyrion had been insistent that she follow the arl's proclamation that elves not carry weapons. Getting caught with a weapon was punishable by death, generally by the very weapon the elf was caught carrying. She pulled the dagger from its sheath, looking it over. It was a finely crafted silverite blade, longer than she was used to, with a simple black hilt. Unlike many of the blades she'd handled over the years, this one was properly sized to her smaller elven hand.

A quiet sigh left her lips as she sheathed it again, laying it on the table before Cyrion. "What if I don't want to marry?"

"And what else would you do?" her father asked, incredulous. "You're old enough that it's time for you to be an adult; to marry and have children and put aside your swordplay and drinking. I fear that I won't be able to keep you safe from the humans in this city for much longer. Your mother would never want you to suffer her fate. She would want me to do what I must to keep you safe."Cyrion's hand trembled as it tightened around the bottle. He refilled his cup and drank deeply. Even after so many years, he was haunted by Adaia's sacrifice. She had done what was necessary to ensure Zoya's survival and he had been unable to stop her. Now it was his turn. "At least in Highever, married into a well-respected family, you may be safe."

"I don't know this elf, and I know no one in Highever. Shianni and Soris need me. _You _need me. I can't leave." Zoya knew her argument was thin, but she _had _to try. "Besides, what if I never love him or he never loves me? I can't do this, father. If you fear for my safety, let Soris, Shianni and I go to the Dalish. Surely you know where they can be found? They would take us in, I'm sure of it. Mother would have rather I go to the Dalish than enter into a loveless marriage with someone I've never met." Her hands clung to his as she knelt before him, green eyes pleading with him to change his mind.

"Zoya Tabris, daughter of Cyrion and Adaia, the match is made and the dowry paid. You will be married a month from now. There will be no argument and no discussion. You will obey your father, and you will obey me." Valendrian spoke in a quiet but firm voice and Zoya's eyes grew wide and her face paled. The elder's speech struck her like the back of a hand. She swallowed her reply, knowing there was no point in arguing further.

The silence became uncomfortable as Cyrion and Valendrian waited, expecting her to continue her objections. Zoya swallowed the lump in her throat and bowed to her father and Valendrian before softly speaking. "May I please be excused, elder?"

"Of course. Please relay to Soris that I must speak to him as soon as possible."

Zoya hurried from Valendrian's home, fighting the urge to slam the door behind her. Angry tears welled, blurring her vision. How could her father do this to her? Adaia had always insisted that Zoya be allowed to make her own choices and now her father was taking them away. And to send her away from everyone she loved in this world – it wasn't fair! She'd done everything anyone had ever asked of her – _why_ was she being punished like this? The flurry of thoughts threatened to overcome her as she stumbled blindly towards the home she shared with her father and cousins.

The clamor in her head was suddenly silenced by a strong hand gripping her shoulder. An instinctual reaction to free herself took control as she wrapped her hand around the offending wrist, crouched to pull him off balance and spun to twist her attacker's arm behind his back.

"Hold on - Zoya, it's me! Stop before you really hurt me." Zoya looked up to see Soris peering over his shoulder at her, his face pale with pain and surprise. "I was calling you but you didn't seem to hear. What's wrong? You look like you've been crying, cousin."

"Not here and not now. Get Shianni and meet me at the tenement as soon as you can. And get as much ale as you can carry. Oh, and Valendrian wants to speak with you right away. Let's hope you get better news than I just did, cousin." Zoya released Soris' arm and continued toward her home. The sight of Soris going pale at the thought of facing the elder made her sorry for her harsh words. He looked as ill as she felt and she took no comfort in the knowledge that it was likely he would soon share her misery.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N - Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed (and favorited) the repost of this story. Your supportive and encouraging words mean the world to me! All reviews are accepted, whether they are short or long. Another big thank you to my wonderful beta Eve Hawke - you're the best! *hugs***_

The maelstrom in Zoya's head threatened to boil out in violent and unpredictable ways. Valendrian told her she needed to think before she acted, but how could she when there were so many thoughts chasing through her head, screaming incoherently at her. The loudest and most insistent was to run from this place, to escape this fate imposed upon her. Her eyes fastened on the Alienage's gate as she thought about taking action; the muscles in her legs gave an anticipatory twitch and her heart pounded in her chest in response. With an effort of will, she turned her back on the gate. Running wasn't the answer she was looking for.

Her father and the elder's betrayal had cut her to the core. Neither man had consulted her about arranging a match or sending her to Highever where she would be away from all she knew and loved. How long had they been planning her betrothal? All the things she'd wanted to say earlier at Valendrian's house, but had been unable to formulate at the proper moment, swirled with the other flotsam.

Zoya shoved at the door to her home until it finally gave way, cursing under her breath that Soris hadn't yet fixed it, then entered the dark house. The embers in the fireplace glowed dimly, the only light in the small main room as Zoya stalked to the hearth. She gripped the worn wood of the mantle, trying to ground herself as rage and panic continued to build in her chest. Reaching within, Zoya channeled the magical energy into the fireplace. The logs on the grate, as well as every candle throughout the room, flared to life. The flames grew, greedily devouring her magic, the pinprick in the Veil tearing wide open as the raw power she called on poured through the breach. For a brief moment, she wondered what would happen if she just let the power continue to flow.

Zoya grimaced and fiercely shook her head as she cursed her loss of control. Using her magic to light the fireplace or candles was among the earliest lessons Adaia had taught her; a test of control that she had just failed spectacularly. Her fists clenched hard enough for her fingernails to cut into her palms as she extinguished the flames. How many times did she need to be taught the importance of keeping her emotions in check? She needed to get herself under control and quickly; these kinds of emotional outbursts had a way of attracting unwanted attention from the Fade and she was in no mood to be propositioned by a demon today. And the last thing she wanted to do was burn her home to the ground.

She took deep, soothing breaths as she turned from the fireplace, moved to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of mead, and let her eyes wander the room. Each simple, well-worn furnishing held a memory for her. Every chair and table, each cushion and blanket - even the cooking spoons had been passed from generation to generation**,** and would continue to be handed down until they fell apart. When she closed her eyes, Zoya saw the childhood memories play out in front of her.

_She sat on the floor at her mother's feet, her nimble fingers working through the mechanics of the lock in her hands. At the sound of knocking, Adaia rose from her seat next to the fire, slender hands running through her hair and smoothing her tunic as she moved to the door on light feet. She ushered Duncan in quickly, taking a moment to scan the area outside the house for witnesses to his arrival. Zoya's fingers dropped the lock as she scrambled to stand, looking up in shy expectation at the armored human. _

_He reached down and ruffled her hair with a gloved hand. "My little magpie... do you think I would come empty handed?" He turned his other hand over, opening his fingers to reveal a complex golden lock. "I found this lovely thing in the Deep Roads. None of my party could open it." Duncan winked at Adaia, "I bet Gregor that I'd find someone who could. Would you like to give it a try?" Zoya grinned at him and plucked the lock from his hand._

_Soris looked at her crossly as she scampered back to her spot in front of the fire. "I bet I can figure it out faster than she can!" He swooped down on her, snatching the lock from her hands. While Zoya was slightly older, Soris stood a full head taller than the girl. He held the lock over his head so it was out of her reach. Any other child might have jumped and cried out, attempting to take back her treasure, but not Zoya. She crouched down and kicked out viciously, sweeping his feet from under him. Soris howled as he fell, and the two of them rolled across the floor, arms and legs all a-tangle as they wrestled and struck at each other. Zoya was vaguely aware of her mother's voice, admonishing their antics, but what happened next stunned them all into silence. _

_Soris had her pinned to the floor and was grinning in triumph as he continued to hold the lock out of her reach. The rough floor boards pressed hard into her back through her light tunic__**,**_ _her hair catching on the cupped and splintered edges of the wide planks as she squirmed under his weight. Zoya growled as the frustration grew inside her. A humming resonated at her center, bringing with it a tingling pressure that spread through her limbs. She pulled her arms free and pressed her palms against Soris' chest, wishing he would just get off. The rush of exhilaration at the sudden release of pressure caught her by surprise; she could see the energy moving from her in waves, throwing Soris off her and across the room. Zoya leapt to her feet, her face defiant as she marched over and grabbed the lock from his hand. _

Zoya smiled sadly at the memory. What would she have told that child if she could have spoken to her? Would she tell her to fear her power - to bury it deep and never use it again? Maker knew, such gifts came with a terrible price. She sipped from her cup, losing herself to the past once more.

_Adaia shooed the children into bed, promising to tuck them in shortly. Once they'd changed their clothing and settled down, Adaia slipped back into the room, lifting Zoya and settling the girl in her lap. Her voice shifted into the subtle lilt it always got when she told the old stories. Though she knew only a few tales, the children never tired of hearing them. After they drifted off to sleep, Adaia snuck back into the main room. _

_The loss of her mother's warmth woke Zoya. She lay quietly as Adaia and Duncan spoke, not wanting to move or even breathe for fear of alerting the adults that she was listening._

"_What are you going to do?" Zoya could hear Duncan remove his swords and lay them on the wooden floor before settling into a chair._

"_Cyrion will be back tomorrow. I'll have to tell him. You understand that I'll need to postpone our trip to the Brecilian ruins?" Adaia's light footsteps crossed the room. Zoya recognized the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle and liquid poured into cups. _

"_Of course I understand. I doubt Cyrion will be as happy about Zoya's new talents as you are. He's fairly devout in his beliefs, isn't he?" The chair groaned as Duncan shifted his weight._

_"Very devout. You're probably right - he's never been comfortable with my magic, and I doubt Zoya inheriting this 'curse' will change his mind." Adaia sighed heavily. _

"_Do you think he'll insist that she be sent to the Circle?" Zoya's breath caught in her throat at Duncan's mention of the Circle. While she don't know much about what the Circle was, the venom in Adaia's voice whenever she spoke of it told her all she really needed to know._

"_He wouldn't dare suggest we send her away. He knows how I feel about the Circle - I'd take her and run before I allow her to be sent to that place." She winced at the sound of her mother's anger._

_Zoya heard Duncan rise from his chair and his heavy boots moving across the floor. "You could take her to the Dalish. At least there you'll both be out of the Chantry's reach."_

_She gripped her blanket in her fists as she strained to hear her mother's response. "Perhaps. But I think Cyrion will see reason." Zoya couldn't help but think that her mother didn't sound very confident about her statement. _

_Their talk drifted to mundane topics, but much as she tried to sleep, it was a long time before she shut her eyes. _

_Adaia's nerves the following day telegraphed themselves to the children, and when Cyrion arrived at last, the tension was thick enough to slice. Adaia put them to bed as usual, but sleep was the farthest thing from Zoya's anxious mind. Staring into the darkness, she listened for the conversation she knew was coming._

"_I looked the other way when you insisted that Zoya be trained in weapons and hand-to-hand combat. And against my better judgement, I relented when you taught her how to pick locks. But this is a completely different situation." Zoya could hear Cyrion pacing the floor as he spoke. "It's one thing for __**you **__to stay hidden from the Templars. How are you planning on keeping Zoya's magic a secret? It's going to take time for her to learn to control it. Don't you think she'll be tempted to use it like she did with Soris yesterday? And what if she hurts someone? I'm sorry Adaia, but I don't think we have a choice - she'll need to go to the Circle for everyone's safety. This is a matter of keeping you both alive." Zoya felt tears burning in her eyes; was her father really going to send her away? She fought the urge to leap from her bed to run to him and beg him to let her stay. _

_A hint of desperation crept into her voice as Adaia pleaded with her husband. "Cyrion, you need to trust in me and in our daughter. She's smart, a quick learner, and she has a good heart. I can't imagine that she would ever intentionally use her magic to harm another. I can teach her the control she needs."_

"_I doubt that she'd __**intentionally **__hurt anyone, but look what happened with Soris. She's very young and self control isn't exactly a virtue of youth. You and I both know magic is dangerous. There's a reason why young mages are taken to the Circle - it's for their protection and ours. If she goes to the Circle, she will be with her own kind. They can safely teach her to control her magic and she wouldn't have to hide from the Chantry." Zoya felt movement on the bed as her cousins crept to her side. She raised a finger to her lips to remind them to stay quiet._

_Adaia's voice was tense, "You know nothing about the Circle or what it's like to be ripped from your family. I can't, I won't, allow Zoya to be sent to the Circle. She's my daughter, and I know that I'm the best one to teach her."_

_A hand pounded on the wood of a table. "Your insistence that she stay here is reckless and selfish. You forget that she's also my daughter, and I know that she'll be better off in the Circle."_

"_And you're reacting out of your own ignorance and fear! You're leaving me little choice but to take my daughter and run__._" _The children cowered under the blankets as the adult voices rose in volume._

_Shianni and Soris pressed in close on either side of Zoya, their hands clasped tightly. Cyrion's voice was cold and hard when he responded, "And where would you go? To your beloved Warden? Did he promise he would take care of you and Zoya, that the Wardens would shelter you from the Chantry? Maybe he's finally getting what he's wanted all along - you as a Warden at his side and Zoya as his ward?" _

_Zoya heard a chair clatter to the floor as its occupant rose too quickly. "Cyrion, you go too far. I suggest you stop speaking..."_

_Cyrion's voice was harsh as he continued. "Maybe he could groom her to take your place should you ever fall? Set up a home for your new family in the Deep Roads? That's one place the Templars would never chase you." Zoya gave Shianni a sharp look as the girl whimpered._

"_Leave Duncan and your petty jealousy out of this! You knew what you were getting into when you accepted the match - you have no right to complain about the conditions of our partnership now! I warn you, Cyrion, if I think that you have alerted the Chantry about us, I will leave this place and you will __**never **__see your daughter again." A long silence followed before Adaia took a deep breath and continued in a deadly cold tone. "You __**will not**_ _interfere in this, and will let me handle her instruction as __**I **__see fit. Are we clear?"_

_She heard heavy footsteps and then the door to their home open as her father responded. "Fine, Adaia, we'll do this your way. I pray to the Maker that we don't all regret that I gave in to your demands." The door slammed shut, the whole house shuddering with the impact of Cyrion's ire. The children held a collective breath as silence crashed down on them. Before long, they closed rebellious eyes as Adaia snuck into the room to curl herself around her supposedly sleeping daughter. _

Zoya could not have asked for a better teacher. Adaia was strict, but patient - it was obvious she was determined that her daughter would have the best education she could provide. An old pang of guilt flared as she recalled Adaia limiting her trips away from the Alienage in favor of staying home to teach Zoya about her magic, not that her mother or Duncan ever openly complained about the situation. She was pulled back into her memories as she drained the cup to its dregs.

_Adaia sat behind Zoya, her fingers nimble as she braided her daughter's hair. "In the days of Arlathan, all elves had magic. If we were among the Dalish, your magic would be considered a gift. But here, among the worshipers of Andraste, magic is a curse. The most important thing I can teach you is basic control and how to hide your talent from others, especially from the Chantry and its Templars. You need to always remember that if they discover us, our lives will be forfeit. They will likely kill me and you will be taken to the Circle."_

_Zoya turned to look at her mother, eyes wide. "Why would they do that?"_

"_Because they fear our power, our connection with the Fade, and the temptations that await us there. Perhaps they're right to be afraid. It's far too easy to use that power for gain, either for good or bad; the Tevinter magisters are living proof of what love of power can do. Once you feel that kind of power, you crave it - you turn to blood magic or make deals with spirits of the Fade to get it."_

"_But I'd never make a deal with a spirit or use blood magic. I don't care about being powerful. I know you don't either. Why would they want to hurt us?"_

"_It's easy for you to say that now. Would you be so firm in that belief if making a deal with a demon allowed you to save someone you loved?" Adaia's fingers slid through Zoya's thick locks. "You know that I've had to go to great efforts to hide my magic from everyone but our family and Valendrian. But even though I know the danger of exposing my magic to others, I would rather be caught by the Templars than deny someone the use of my healing skills. I take a great risk that those I help will keep their vow of silence and not turn me in to the Chantry." Adaia's face suddenly became fierce, "And Maker only knows what I would be willing to do if it meant keeping you safe." _

Zoya crossed the room to her mother's trunk, easily picking the lock and opening the lid. There were two keys - one in each of her parent's possession. Her father was holding his key until he could present it to Zoya when she married; her mother's key had been lost when she was killed. Zoya suspected that Cyrion knew she continued to open the trunk without a key, but he never mentioned that he knew.

_She'd fled the docks, running through the tunnels and the tenement, back to her home like the Dread Wolf himself nipped at her ankles. Tears stung her eyes as they blurred her sight, and her chest ached as she struggled to breathe. If she thought it would remove the images of her mother's final moments, she would claw the eyes from her own head. She burst through the door, hoping that it had all been a nightmare__**,**_ _that her mother would be sitting near the fireplace in her usual spot with a book in her hand__**.**_

_The house was empty and quiet. An unbearable need to be close to her mother, to drink in the familiar scent of leather and wildflowers, drove her to the old chest. Zoya was apprehensive as she reached into her pocket for her lockpick, and she sobbed in frustration as she struggled to pick the lock for the first time. It seemed to take hours for the lock to give way, and when it finally did, there was no sense of pride or accomplishment... her teacher wasn't there to praise her. Bleary, tear-filled eyes searched the contents of her mother's trunk as she fumbled with trembling hands until they grasped Adaia's armor. It was hours later when her father found her, curled into a ball on the floor with her arms wrapped tight around the armor. He said nothing, only cradled her until the sun rose, stroking her hair as she continued to sob._

Just as she did each time she opened the trunk, her fingers sought comfort in the old, familiar things - smooth leather, cold steel, crisp fabric, delicate embroidery. Questing fingers traced the Dalish designs on the cured leather of Adaia's chest piece, greaves and gauntlets. Zoya pressed her face into the leather, inhaling deeply; even after all this time, it still smelled of Adaia. Under the armor were her mother's daggers and lockpick kit**,** and beneath these was her wedding dress, all passed down through the generations. A lump rose in her throat as she was reminded that this was all that remained of her mother - the innocent bride and fierce warrior memorialized in silk and steel.

~oOo~

Shianni shoved the door open and entered the house, pausing for a moment as she let her eyes adjust to the dim light. She couldn't see her cousin, but sensed that she was somewhere in the room's shadows. She cleared her throat, "Zoya? I ran into Soris. He told me what happened with Uncle Cyrion and the elder. He's worried about you. Are you alright?"

Shianni moved cautiously, as she struggled to see in the dim light. The candles throughout the room suddenly blazed to life, and Shianni stifled a small shriek . "Maker, I hate when you do that!"

Zoya's hand dropped to her lap and she smirked in that way that made you either want to smack her or hug her, "Then you should be glad you weren't here when I got home earlier."

Now that her eyes had adjusted to the light in the room, Shianni was able to see her cousin more clearly. Soris had been justified when he told Shianni he was worried about Zoya. Her red hair was loose and wild, framing a pale face punctuated by haunted green eyes, swollen and rimmed in red. Zoya looked so young as she knelt on the floor next to her mother's trunk, Adaia's breastplate and wedding dress both resting on her lap.

Shianni knelt down beside Zoya, her fingers tracing the delicate embroidery on the wedding dress as she spoke in a wistful voice. "I'm sure Adaia looked beautiful in this."

Zoya's eyes glittered with tears. "Do you know how many times I dreamed of leaving this place after she was gone? But in these dreams, it was always my choice to leave - my choice on where to go. I always imagined I would take you and Soris with me. And I never thought I would be wearing the wedding dress, instead of the armor, when I left."

Shianni put an arm around Zoya's shoulders, feeling her stiffen for a moment before her barriers crumbled. Zoya pressed her face into the curve of Shianni's shoulder and wrapped her arms around Shianni's waist. She stroked Zoya's head gently, feeling her cousin tremble. "I miss her, Shianni. If I ever needed her, it would be now. I don't know what to do." Zoya pulled free from her cousin; angrily shaking her head and wiping the tears from her face.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but is it so bad? Couldn't this be a good thing?" Shianni gently cut Zoya off as she started to protest. "What if your betrothed is a beautiful adventurer and you fall in love with each other at first sight? He's a blacksmith so he's likely to be strong, and he knows blades so you could talk to him about that. And I hear that Highever is so much nicer than here - maybe they have a big house outside the Alienage? Besides, do you really think Uncle Cyrion wouldn't find you a good match? He only wants what's best for you." Shianni gave Zoya her most reassuring smile.

A sad smirk crossed Zoya's face. "Or maybe he's missing fingers and covered in soot and living in a stable. Ah Shianni, you're such a romantic." Zoya chewed absently at her lower lip. "I wonder if he knows I've got magic."

"Maker, I hope not." Shianni replied, eyes widening in horror. "That would be awful!" Shianni suddenly realized her mistake and her hands flew to cover her mouth before she could say more.

"Why?" Zoya's voice grew dangerously quiet as her eyes shifted back to the breastplate and dress in her lap."Do _you _think it's awful?" Zoya raised her eyes to lock onto her cousin with an intensity that made Shianni's heart stop in her chest.

"Well... no...I only meant..." In truth, the whole magic thing made Shianni uncomfortable. She shifted under Zoya's piercing gaze, hoping her cousin couldn't tell and wishing that she had just gone straight to the tenement so they could have avoided this whole conversation. "Sure, your magic has its uses, but..."

"But?" One dark red eyebrow lifted, the hard look on Zoya's face as frozen as midwinter.

Shianni gulped, her heart racing. The words tumbled out, drawn forth by Zoya's demanding eyes. "But I'm always afraid someone will find out, and you'll be taken away, just like..." She cut herself off, a fearful sob choking past her loosening guard. Zoya's frosty countenance melted, her arms circling her younger cousin in reassurance.

Shianni was surprised to hear Zoya chuckling softly. She pulled away from her cousin with a questioning look.

Zoya gave her a lopsided grin. "I was just thinking about the look on father and Valendrian's faces when I left the elder's house. My tongue was so twisted, I could barely string two words together. Who would have thought that all it would take was the mention of marriage to slow me down? I bet Valendrian wishes he had thought of it sooner."

Shianni laughed as she rose to her feet and ran a hand through her short red hair. It was just like Zoya to take an emotional situation, and try to make light of it. She knew her cousin well enough to know that their heart-to-heart was done for now. "Soris is at the tenement waiting for us. Are you ready to go?"

Her cousin took a deep breath and nodded, gently settling her mother's things back in the trunk before closing and relatching it. Zoya rose slowly, deft hands smoothing over her simple tunic and skirt and hastily pulling her hair into a tail. Shianni could sense her cousin start to relax as she moved through the normal routine before leaving the house - writing Cyrion a quick note informing him they were going to be away for the evening and extinguishing the candles with an effort of will. As the room plunged back into darkness, Shianni reached out to Zoya, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Their fingers twined in shared support as they left the house.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N ****-**** More thanks to my wonderful reviewers and my spectacularly talented (and patient) beta, Eve Hawke *hugs***_

Zoya was drunk - blissful, head-spinning, not-a-care-in-the-world sozzled. There was nothing like a night of drinking and gambling with friends to send one's problems to the Void, even if the absence was just until the buzz wore off and the raging headache kicked in. Her feet traipsed along the shifting and buckling hallway as a song fell from her lips.

_'Tis the shem and their chains that bind_

_But 'tis ale that sets us free_

_'Tis love that makes us blind_

_But 'tis wine that makes us see_

_'Tis better our heads than our hearts should ache_

_But 'tis spirits, dear elves, a slave will make_

Zoya had been perched on a crate in the apartment, humming contently as she'd listened to her companions snoring and mumbling in their drunken stupor. But then it had been easy to feel content with a few extra coins tucked in her boot and someone else to do her chores for the next couple weeks. She'd grinned wickedly - some day, her cousins would realize that her success at cards wasn't just luck of the draw; hopefully that day wouldn't come until after she was safely on her way to Highever. The smile had disappeared as she'd been reminded that she would be leaving her home in just one month. A sudden need to visit the docks had overcome her, a nagging itch that she couldn't quite reach. That place, and the memories it held, had always made her feel close to her mother again, and at that moment she needed her mother. So off she'd gone- impaired feet ambled along the uneven floorboards and her shoulder bumped against the rough plaster wall as she'd sung her jaunty tune.

The sounds of her progress were deafening in the silence of the sleeping tenement. While it was unlikely she would draw the attention of the neighbors - she wasn't the first elf to drunkenly wander these hallways, and she certainly wouldn't be the last - she hushed herself. It wouldn't be good to draw too much attention. Her thoughts turned to the first time Adaia had taken her to hidden entrance in the tenement's storage room.

_Adaia pressed a gentle finger to her lips as she took Zoya by the hand, leading her through the maze of dank hallways on silent feet. They came to a simple door; Adaia paused for a moment to pick the lock and they ducked into the cluttered storage room. Her mother squeezed her hand as she called a wisp to light their way. Zoya giggled in delight as it danced merrily about her head, its gentle glimmer tickling her cheeks and the tips of her ears. _

_"What I'm about to show you is a secret place. It's long been forgotten by those who built it. Now, only Duncan and I know of it. You must keep these tunnels secret, even from your cousins and your father." _

_Zoya drew an "X" over her heart and nodded solemnly at her mother. Adaia took Zoya's hands in her own, guiding them to a hidden switch. Without warning, a panel opened under Zoya's fingertips, startling the girl backward with a frightened gasp. Her mother gave her a reassuring smile and led her through the opening, the wisp making shadows dance on the rough hewn stone walls._

The lock on the storage room door swam in her vision. It wasn't until she closed her eyes and let her nimble fingers act on their own that she was able to pick the lock. Successful at last, she slipped inside the familiar clutter of the closet, locking the door behind her. Standing in the complete darkness only added to her dizziness, but she had sense enough to know that using fire magic in this small place would be a terrible idea. She wished that Adaia had taught her how to call a wisp to do her bidding; there was something comforting about the playful, dancing light. Instead, Zoya focused upon her hand, her eyes slipping shut as she urged a bit of magic through her veins. Her skin began to glow a soft blue, and she chuckled in triumph - even drunk, she could manage this minor bit of magic without disaster. Light trails from her hand dazzled her vision as she triggered the hidden switch for the secret panel.

The panel shifted aside, and a wave of cold, damp air washed over Zoya; its stale smell tinged with mildew and the unique odor of the docks. The rough-hewn stone wall snagged and pulled at her tunic as she navigated the steps that would take her downward into the tunnels. As her feet followed the path they knew so well, Zoya watched absently as small spiders skittered away from the blue glow of her hand tracing along the stone.

A rat suddenly darted out from moldering crates stacked against the wall; she shrieked, jumping back instinctively. Her foot caught on a loose stone and her ankle twisted beneath her with a pop. She lurched toward the wall and threw her hands out in front of her as she tumbled into the crates, her limbs flailing as she scrambled to get free from the tangle of rotten wood. She sat dazed in the middle of the tunnel, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

A tickling sensation on her arm drew her panicked gaze. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of her own blood welling out of a long tear along her forearm. The viscous liquid glittered black against the blue glow of her hand. Zoya swallowed hard and sighed heavily, saddened that her revelry had come to such an unpleasant end. Whether it was a consequence of the alcohol or the sight of her own blood, Zoya wasn't sure; she broke into a cold sweat, her stomach clenching in protest as she leaned her forehead against the cool stone wall and retched. There was nothing quite like blood and vomit to kill a buzz.

Zoya wiped a sleeve across her mouth as she extinguished the blue glow, grimacing as she focused healing magic into her other hand. Adaia had been a skilled healer, and she'd been determined to pass her skills to her daughter; but her death had left Zoya's training incomplete. Her mother would have been able to heal a wound like this with barely a thought, but Zoya found herself struggling to focus and manipulate the magic to her will. A golden light encompassed the ragged wound as she concentrated on fusing skin and staunching blood. Next, she turned her attention to her ankle, sighing as the warmth of the healing magic stopped its throbbing. She felt lucky there were no broken bones and that what had startled her was only a rat.

More or less sober now, Zoya reached the hidden panel at the end of the tunnel several minutes later. Delighted that she had arrived without further incident, she held her breath as she paused to press her ear against it. The dock-side entrance was hidden in a low traffic area behind stacks of shipping crates. Even so, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard no movement on the other side of the panel; she triggered the switch, dimming the light of her hand before slipping through.

It was still deep night and all was quiet. The only light came from the flickering torches scattered throughout the dock area, and the only sound was the flags flapping in the breeze and the small waves lapping against the ships and dock. The few docked ships were dark and still as their crews slept. Zoya's heart fluttered in her chest as she traveled the shadows along the walls and crates. It would be safer to use a stealth spell, but there was something satisfying about moving unseen without the use of magic. Adaia had taught her that it was unwise to rely too strongly on your magic, and Zoya thrilled at the chance to challenge her non-magical skills. She chuckled as she recalled the last time she'd visited the docks in the dark of night - she had snuck onto the two ships at port, climbing their masts to swap their flags as the crews slept. The uproar when the crew from each ship woke to find the other ship's colors flying from their masts was priceless.

Zoya's favorite observation point was a ledge cut into the stone wall surrounding the docks. It was far enough away from the activity areas to avoid inadvertent encounters, and yet close enough that she could see details of the people and ships. Adaia had shown her this place; Zoya had visited it often over the years, both with her mother and after she died. She knew every handhold and foothold, every loose rock. Silently scrambling up the stone wall, she settled back on her perch and savored the soft breeze off the water as it caressed her. She could almost feel Adaia's nimble fingers carding through her hair, her head cushioned in her mother's lap as she gazed up into the stars and listened to stories of heroes and gods. Her eyelids grew heavy and she felt herself dozing off.

When she awoke, the color of the sky told her she didn't have much time before sunrise. She pushed herself groggily to her feet, brushing herself off and stretching. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement, and froze mid-stretch before dropping into a crouch against the wall. Heavy footsteps sounded, and from out of the murk she spotted three men in heavy plate chasing a lone human in tattered mage's robes. Zoya's blood ran cold when she realized they were Templars, and the man they chased was an apostate - like herself and Adaia. The memory of the last time she'd seen her mother alive, something she had fought against revisiting every waking hour and every night in her dreams, struck her with enough force to bring her to her knees.

_It had been three days since her mother's arrest, and Zoya had spent every moment waiting on the perch or in the tunnels. She had no doubt that Adaia would escape and come for her, and she was ready to leave this vile place as soon as her mother arrived. Her head swam with the endless possibilities - they could wander with the Dalish or sail the seas or adventure with Duncan. _

_It was on that third night that Adaia came for her. Anticipation mounted as Zoya sensed her approach - even if she couldn't see her, it didn't mean Adaia wasn't there. Zoya grinned as her unfocused eyes found the slight wavering in the air; Adaia was moving quickly toward the tunnels using a stealth spell. As Zoya hopped to her feet and moved to clamber down the stone wall, she saw four Templars moving across the docks in pursuit and she froze in place. Her breath caught in her throat; Adaia had warned her that the Templars could sense the use of magic, thus rendering the stealth spell useless. Zoya shook her head, negating her concern. Surely Adaia could evade them; there was no way they would recapture her. The torchlight glinted off the silver plate and their armor clamored with each step._

_Zoya sucked in a sharp breath as her heart thudded in her chest - something was horribly wrong. The air felt thick as tension built around her - it felt almost like a build-up from magic being gathered but more ominous. Her head turned, eyes focusing on the source of her unease. One Templar stood firm as his cleanse sucked all magic from around them, effectively turning the Veil into an iron curtain that sealed them off from the Fade. Her whole body weakened and threatened to topple her from the perch as the Templar's power spread across the docks. She collapsed to her knees, clasping a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream as Adaia suddenly shimmered into view, her spell nullified. The Templars were quick to surround her mother, who watched them warily as she moved into a defensive crouch._

_The distinctive grinding sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards echoed in her ears as Zoya watched Adaia ready herself for their attack. Indecision wracked her- should she should stay hidden or go to help her mother; reason told her that she would only be a liability to Adaia if she went. The Templars paused for a moment, apparently surprised that this mage hadn't been incapacitated by the loss of her magic. But their surprise was short-lived. Her mother danced lightly away from one Templar's charge, grabbing his sword arm and using his momentum to send him spinning into his comrade. The two men went down in a tangle of swords and armor. Adaia stepped into another Templar's attack as he sliced at her, twisting his sword from his hand and turning it on him. Zoya cringed and turned away, watching out of the corner of her eye as Adaia pushed the tip of his sword up under his helm. As she loosed her grip on the pommel, the Templar collapsed in a lifeless heap at her feet. With hardly a pause, Adaia grabbed the dagger from the fallen man's belt as the Templar who first charged her clambered to his feet. She launched herself at him, her velocity knocking the armored man off balance and back to the dock as she pressed the dagger into his flesh. _

_Zoya's heart swelled with pride; she knew Adaia would break free from her would-be captors. The grace of her mother's movements was beautiful to behold, her movements fluid as a river skirting a boulder. Her preoccupation with her mother's actions distracted her from the remaining Templars; she hardly noticed as one of them gathered his power for an attack. Triumph turned to terror as the smite hit, the dagger slipping from Adaia's limp fingers._

_Even from her perch, Zoya felt the shockwave from the smite press down on her as it roared in her ears. Zoya watched, helpless; she struggled to move, but her limbs wouldn't obey. Adaia shook her head groggily and struggled to rise from where she'd collapsed onto her unconscious opponent. One of the remaining Templars strode forward and seized Adaia by the back of her tunic, throwing her to the dock in a heap before stalking toward her with sword drawn. Zoya pressed her hand more tightly to her mouth to keep from screaming and slid hastily from her perch, rushing along in the shadows of the crates to get to her mother. She knew Adaia would be furious with her for running toward instead of away from the danger, but there was no way she could abandon her mother. Even though she was cut off from her magic and unarmed, every fiber in her being screamed at her to find a way to help._

_She hid in the shadows, shaking as she peered around the edge of the crates. She whimpered when her eyes came to rest on the still form of her mother. The things those monsters were inflicting upon her - they were unimaginable, unspeakable. For a moment, Zoya hoped her mother's spirit had already passed into the Fade. But Adaia's eyes flew open, locking on Zoya's as her lips moved. "I love you. Run!" _

_Zoya shook her head, her fingernails digging into the back of her arms as she hugged herself tightly. As she crouched in preparation for her attack on the Templar, the man's helmeted visage swung in her direction. Adaia's eyes closed for a moment, sadness overwhelming her delicate features before she became serene. Zoya watched in stunned disbelief as Adaia's small hand lashed out, snatching the dagger from the Templar's belt and sinking it deep into his flank. He struck at her head with the back of a gauntleted hand before pulling the dagger free, snarling as he dragged the blade across Adaia's throat. _

_Zoya collapsed to her knees, silent sobs wracking her body. The Templars rose to their feet, swords drawn as they moved in her direction. She escaped into the shadows, threading through the maze of crates until she was sure they weren't in pursuit._

_She paced restlessly in the shadows, moving to a place within sight of Adaia and watching the Templars leave. Once they'd gone, she staggered toward her mother, knowing there was little hope she could do anything to help her now. That moment had passed without any action on her part; regret and guilt was filling the emptiness within her. All her fault - this was all her fault. She should be the one lying here on the dock, not Adaia. _

_Kneeling in the growing pool of blood, Zoya laid her head gently on her mother's chest. There was just a vast nothingness, an empty shell with dull eyes fixed blindly on the stars above. She gently closed her mother's eyelids, kissing each one, and straightened her garments before rising to unsteady feet. The sound of heavy armor approaching stopped her heart in her chest. Zoya ran, her feet fueled by rage and fear. _

It took only seconds to relive the memory. Zoya's breathing came in ragged gasps as she rocked in place, her arms wrapped around knees pulled tight to her chest. The sound of angry yells and armor clanking brought her back to the present danger. The human mage's desperate run stopped at the end of the dock, and he turned, drawing his staff as he faced his pursuers. Once they realized the mage was cornered, the Templars slowed their pursuit and approached him with weapons drawn. One of the Templars stood back with an outstretched hand; he seemed to be talking to the mage, perhaps trying to get him to surrender. Zoya hoped the mage wouldn't be fooled by such a ruse.

Even from her perch, Zoya could feel the pressure from an impending tear in the Veil. She quickened at the potential locked behind the Veil, the power just waiting for someone to draw from it, to unleash it. The mage stood defiant as he brought his staff skyward, preparing to lash out at the Templars. Given the amount of energy he was gathering, she guessed it would be a powerful spell. Goosebumps rose on her skin as the energy continued to build. As his staff hit the dock, he released a surge of power that rolled off him in waves of light, knocking the approaching Templars backwards and off their feet. A ball of lightning grew in his open palm as he prepared to hurl it at his pursuers.

Zoya was impressed by the mage's courage, not to mention the amount of power he wielded. But without a spell that would wipe out the Templars immediately, preferably incinerating them where they stood, the mage was fighting a losing battle. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from yelling at him in warning, knowing it would help neither of them if she exposed her presence to the Templars. In her experience, it was likely that all but one of them was meant as a distraction as that one prepared to cleanse the area of all magic.

Even though she was expecting it, the loss of her magic left her momentarily paralyzed and debilitated. Something, some familiar brand of looming menace, told her the Templar had not finished his attack. Zoya had felt this before - she recognized it with fatalistic acceptance and braced herself for the worst. As she watched in horror, the Templar roared in triumph and unleashed his smite. The mage collapsed to all fours, looking up blearily as the Templars approached with drawn swords.

Zoya's fingers dug into the stone beneath her as she held her breath. Her face was pinched with pain, the tightness in her chest and the strain of staying out of the fight starting to take a toll. The need for vengeance screamed within her, demanding retribution for the crimes committed by these brutes in the name of the Maker. But she was impotent against so many heavily armored opponents in her current state; she was unarmed, cut off from her magic, and weakened by the Templar's smite. Her hands tightened into fists as she struggled to her feet, her fingernails cutting into her palms. She gasped and her hand clutched to her chest as the Templar ran him through - the mage grunted in surprise as the sword entered his chest. Not quite satisfied with the brutality already inflicted, the Templars kicked him savagely until he no longer moved of his own will before shoving him off the edge of the dock into the deep waters.

Bile rose in her throat, already aching with stifled screams, as the Templars clapped each other's backs in congratulations and walked away. Her heart thundered in her ears, and she wiped a shaking hand across eyes that burned with unspent tears. Someday she would have justice, just not today. She shook her head angrily – she couldn't save Adaia then, but she would do everything she could to save this mage now. She would enter the Fade and drag his spirit back to this world if that's what it would take.

Zoya's eyes swept the area to make sure the Templars had left the dock before scrambling down from her perch. Panic rose in her gut as she reached the puddle of blood where the mage had been run through and followed it to the edge of the dock. There was no sign of him. She took a deep breath and silently eased herself over the edge of the dock and into the cold, dark waters, frantic hands searching blindly for any sign of him. As her magic was still dispelled, she knew setting her hands aglow was out of the question. Diving under the water, she explored with her hands until they came in contact with the thick fabric of his robes, gripping them tightly as she struggled to the surface. She kicked hard with her legs, the muscles burning from the effort of keeping her and the much larger mage afloat. Her fingers ached from the tight grip on the mage's robes and the prolonged exposure to the cold water, which was quickly sapping the energy borrowed from her rage.

Her muscles strained with the effort of pulling herself and the mage along the edge of the dock; it seemed an eternity until she reached the gravel boat ramp. She grunted in frustration and exertion as she dragged the mage out of the water one lurching step at a time. She collapsed next to him, laying still for a moment to gather her strength and catch her breath.

Water dripped into her face from loose tendrils of her hair as she leaned over the mage's still form - Zoya pushed them out of her way with impatient fingers, wishing for a leather thong to tie her hair back. His chilled nose brushed her cheek as she hovered over him, the lack of breath against her skin sending a wave of terror through her. She pressed an ear against his chest, holding her breath as she strained to find a heartbeat. Relief flooded her as she heard it - a faint but steady drumming. Zoya yanked open his robes, her hands searching for the place where the Templar had run him through. Now that they were out of the cold water, the ragged wound above the center of his chest was bleeding freely. Zoya instinctively reached for her power, staring hopefully at her hand and willing it to glow, but she felt nothing. She cursed under her breath as she hastily tore the sleeves off her tunic, firmly pressing the fabric into the wounds on either side of his chest and anchoring them in place with a wide strip from her skirt.

The mage's cold, waxy skin and blue-tinged lips added to Zoya's apprehension; he wouldn't survive if she couldn't get him breathing again. She had once been apprenticed to the Alienage's midwife, and she recalled how the elderly woman had restarted a child's breathing. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her mouth against his cold lips, forcing air into him. It took a few tries before she finally saw the mage's chest rise and fall as she breathed for him. After some time, the effort began to take its toll; her lungs burned and stars swam before her eyes. Just when she thought she would have to give up, she felt him convulse; she rolled him onto his side so his body could push the water out of his lungs. Tears welled in her eyes; she hadn't truly realized how much she needed this human to live until she heard him take that first gasping breath.

Desperate eyes skimmed the docks as she sought a way to move him to the safety of the tunnel, then lit with inspiration when she spotted a small wooden canoe resting near the top of the ramp. Zoya's heart leapt, and she dragged it over. The mage was tall and lanky, but he was no lightweight; she struggled to roll him into the craft. At least now she wouldn't hurt him further by hauling him over the gravel. The hempen tow rope, now secured around her waist, cut into her through the thin fabric of her tunic as she strained to move the boat one agonizing footstep at a time. To Zoya's ears, the noise of wood over rock seemed deafening - someone could appear at any moment to investigate, and an anxious lump rose in her throat.

The sun was cresting the horizon by the time she reached the panel. She triggered it and pulled them both into the cool darkness before sagging back against the panel in relief and exhaustion. The mage's breath rattled in his chest as it became increasingly irregular, renewing her sense of urgency. She grunted in frustration as she dragged the small craft and its passenger through the dark tunnel.

Hope fueled her feet - the farther she got from the area impacted by the Templar's power, the more likely it was that her magic would return. She stopped for a moment to reach for her power, feeling it sputter hesitantly before setting one of her hands aglow. Zoya fought the urge to whoop triumphantly. She knew it wasn't much farther until she reached her destination, an old slave cell located in a side tunnel - Adaia had called it her "bolt hole." It would be a safe place to keep the mage until she learned whether he was trustworthy. Gripping the mage under his arms, she hauled him as gently as she could onto the sleeping platform in the cell. He groaned in pain and struggled against her weakly as she moved him.

Dread clawed at her gut as she stripped him of his robes and pulled away the bandages to better assess his injuries; only once before had she seen damage so grievous. A network of cuts and angry bruises canvassed his skin. But beyond that, the ragged wounds had reopened when she moved him, and fresh blood pooled at an alarming rate.

Zoya reached deep inside herself, opening the tear in the Veil wider than she'd ever risked before and collecting the magic to channel for healing. She took a deep breath, stilling her mind and quieting her self-doubt. Both hands glowed with golden light as they traversed his inert form, assessing his injuries. The most serious wound was from the Templar's sword; the blade had missed his heart but had pierced his lungs, which were now heavy with fluids. Rolling him over, she placed a hand on either side of his chest to cover the entry and exit wounds, visualizing her healing magic traveling through him between her hands. Adaia had taught her that the magic wanted to return the flesh to a healthy state; her job was to channel the magic and guide it to where it was most needed.

Her body shook and she gasped for air from the strain of knitting flesh and bone and clearing lungs filled with fluid. She sensed she was near a breaking point, but she couldn't cease her efforts until her magic failed or she was sure he was no longer in immediate danger. Once his chest wound was sufficiently healed, her hands moved to hover over his head, mending the hidden damage deep within his skull. But she soon felt her magic sputtering and her control faltering again; she withdrew her hands, hoping that she had done enough.

Zoya collapsed against the back wall of the cell, her eyes slamming shut and her whole body shaking with exhaustion. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she ended her brief rest and pushed herself to unsteady feet. She needed to go to the apartment to retrieve supplies - food, water, potions, and clothing. And her cousins would soon wake and wonder where she had gone; she had to go back or risk them raising an alarm. If she was lucky, the mage would remain unconscious until she returned.


	4. Chapter 4

"Maker's breath - you look like a drowned alley cat! What happened to you? To your clothes? Is that _your _blood? Why are you all wet? You stink of dead fish! We were worried about you…" Shianni's face paled, the words tumbling from her lips as she leapt to her feet. Her hands pulled at the filthy tatters of Zoya's clothes as she searched for injuries.

Zoya gently pried herself from Shianni's grip, slumping into a battered chair at the table. Her cousins waited expectantly as she poured herself a mug of hot tea and crammed a chunk of sweet bread into her mouth, licking her fingers clean as she decided how to respond to Shianni's interrogation. Even to her own ears, the exhaustion in her voice was obvious, the words hollow as she related her tale in the simplest way she could. "I went to the docks last night. There were Templars. They chased a mage, ran him through, and dumped him off the docks. I took him to a safe place and healed him, or at least healed him as much as I could before I exhausted my magic. I don't have much time before I need to go back there - he'll need food, clothing, blankets, and medicine. Can you cover for me while I deal with this?"

Soris stared at her in disbelief, his eyes and mouth agape. "What? You did _what_? Zoya, are you insane? What if the Templars come looking for him? Why would you help this mage? You know nothing about him! For all you know, the Templars tried to kill him for a reason!" Horror at what she'd done was clear on his face.

Zoya sighed heavily as she stared into the dregs in her mug. "What do you want me to say, Soris? It's done –there's no changing it." Zoya's throat tightened as tears burned in her eyes. "You know as well as I that the Templars pursue any mage – it doesn't matter if they're good or bad. It was like mother all over again - I was helpless to stop them when they dispelled his magic and unleashed their smite. They dumped him off the docks like garbage. I _had_ to help him." She searched her cousins' faces, tears cutting channels through the filth on her cheeks as her eyes pleaded for understanding.

Shianni knelt before Zoya, grasping her icy hands. "You know we'll do whatever you need. Right Soris?" Shianni gave him a stern glare, daring him to refuse. Soris stared at her defiantly for a moment before dropping his gaze to his hands and nodding in resignation. She turned back to Zoya, reaching up to wipe a tear way. "What do you need us to do?"

Zoya pulled Shianni into a tight embrace. "Thank you for trusting in me. Maybe you could go to Alarith's and pick up enough food for a week or so, and maybe a few health and mana potions? You can tell Alarith to put it on my tab. If you bring everything back here to the room, I'll be able to retrieve it." She looked Soris up and down; he was reasonably tall and well-built for an elf, but not nearly as much as the human. Sometimes you couldn't afford to be picky – it would raise suspicion if her cousins purchased garments that would fit a human. "Soris, you have a spare set of clothing here, right? Shirt, pants?"

Soris raised an eyebrow and ran his hands roughly through his hair. "Yes… Oh Maker… Fine…" Soris' voice was strained and he wouldn't meet her eyes as he spoke. "But where will you be?" His anxiety was clear on his face.

Zoya could tell he was worried about her being alone with the mage. But beyond that, there was something even more troubling that everyone in the room knew but no one was willing to acknowledge openly. If the humans discovered that an apostate was being harbored by someone in the Alienage, the consequences could be dire, and not just for Zoya.

Zoya wrapped her fingers around Soris' calloused hand. "Thank you, Soris. I owe you one." She tapped a finger against her chin as she considered her cover story and how much information to share with her cousins. "You can tell everyone I've secured some short term work in the city and will be staying there until it's done. But it's best if you don't know where I am. Now please, hurry."

Shianni and Soris rose to their feet, hugging her tightly before leaving the room. Zoya grabbed a crate and packed it with food, water, blankets and Soris' spare clothes. She quickly stripped out of her torn and bloodied clothing, using the discarded garments and water from the basin to scour most of the blood and filth off herself. A long, hot bath appealed, but that was a luxury she was not likely to enjoy any time soon. Her skin tingled from the cold water and rough scrubbing; once finished, she pulled a fresh tunic and leggings on over reddened skin. The bedrolls against the apartment's wall called out to her, and she regarded them longingly before grabbing the crate and hurrying back to the storage room and the tunnels beyond.

~oOo~

Zoya picked the door's lock and quietly entered the cell, thankful the mage was still unconscious. Stowing the crate against a wall, she knelt over him, laying her ear to his chest. His heart beat rapidly, his lungs crackled with every shallow breath, and his skin was hot and dry against her cheek. It really wasn't surprising that he was feverish after his open wounds had been exposed to the filth-ridden waters of the docks. This was a complication she would have to address before she could finally rest.

Her magic sputtered in protest when she called it; she would just have to use mundane means to deal with his fever. She tore a strip from his robe and dipped it in a basin of water, feeling a bit guilty about the damage inflicted on the garment. It might have been well-made once, but now there wasn't much left to salvage. Well, at least she had managed to save his boots; enchantments tingled against her fingers as she touched the well-maintained brown leather. She plucked blonde strands of hair from his forehead and away from the dark stubble on his cheeks before pressing the cool, wet cloth to his face, neck and chest. He flinched and let out a small gasp when the compress contacted his skin.

She continued her ministrations, taking the opportunity to study him. He wasn't destitute if his jewelry was any indication - a gold hoop glittered in his ear, and the pendant around his neck and rings on his fingers were marked with runes, likely to augment his power. He was attractive enough for a human - his thin, angular face was given character by a slightly over-long nose and wide, generous mouth. The lack of scars and calluses on his hands marked him as someone unaccustomed to hard labor or combat. Perhaps this human was a mage from a Circle - escaped, maybe, which would explain the Templars' pursuit. Other than her mother she'd never met another mage, let alone one from the Circle; her head spun with all the questions she wanted to ask him.

Once his temperature had lowered, she dropped the cloth back into the basin and leaned against the cell wall. Her eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion, and before long she slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

She awoke some time later with her neck and back screaming at her for falling asleep upright against the uneven stone wall. Weary fingers massaged the knots in her neck as she yawned and attempted to stretch muscles stiff from the recent abuses inflicted on them. The distinct feeling that someone was watching her shivered over her skin; she sucked in a sharp breath of surprise. Intense brown eyes pinned her to the spot, freezing her as effectively as a mouse spotted by a hungry cat. Goosebumps rose, though there was no malice in his gaze - only mild concern and open curiosity.

His voice rasped weakly, "Would you mind terribly if I asked you who you are, where I am, and why I have no clothes?"

Zoya was uncharacteristically tongue-tied; she wondered how long it would take for her heart to descend from her throat and her tongue to start working again. Her hands ran through her hair self-consciously, nervously twisting it into a tight knot at the base of her neck. She hated to admit it, but what if Soris had been right? She had locked herself in this cell with a strange human, a potentially dangerous mage, and no one knew where she was or expected to see her for at least a week. Her imagination ran wild with all the things that could befall her before anyone suspected foul play. She pulled her feet up under her in case she needed to flee.

The human continued to watch her as she silently fidgeted, rubbing at the stubble along his jaw before gently probing at his chest where he had been run through. "Not very talkative are you? You're obviously not a Templar." His eyes narrowed as he studied his surroundings. "And I don't recognize these cells, which is odd since I've probably visited every dungeon in Ferelden over the years." He struggled to sit up, but was wracked by convulsive coughing.

Zoya poured water into a cup and moved cautiously toward the human, keeping both hands in clear view. Reason told her he was likely harmless in his current state; she took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she got her fear under control. "Please… I only want to help you."

"Even if I wanted to hurt you, which I don't, I don't think I have it in me right now." He smiled at her weakly. "There's something about being run through with a sword that makes you less feisty."

The tightness in Zoya's chest eased and she chuckled softly. "It _was_ a pretty big sword. And if you add being nearly drowned… well, I think that would just about take the fight out of anyone." She knelt beside the mage, helping to prop him up so he could comfortably drink. After he'd had his fill, she gently lowered him back to the platform. The fever radiated from him in waves; she moved to retrieve the basin and cloth, hoping to once again lower his temperature.

The mage shivered, goosebumps rising as the cold cloth swept over his bare skin. "I should at least know your name if you're going to insist on spending time with me while I'm in nothing but my smallclothes."

Zoya blushed and bit the inside of her cheek, chastising herself for the sudden impulse to let her eyes linger over his lanky length. She cleared her throat before speaking. "Zoya."

His lips quirked into a soft smile before he closed his eyes. "You may call me Anders, my dear lady." As she continued to run the cloth over his skin, she unfocused her eyes and emptied her mind to allow her healer's instincts to take control of her hands. Under her gentle touch, his breathing slowed as he relaxed into a deep slumber.

Zoya was desperate for sleep, but she knew she should return to the apartment for her supplies. A health potion would go a long way toward reducing Anders' fever, and a mana potion would help support her magic. The head injury that she had been trying to heal when her magic failed was still of concern, and with her magic restored she could endeavor to heal it. With one last forlorn glance at her still-unused bedroll, she ducked silently out of the cell.

~oOo~

When Anders woke some hours later, he didn't immediately recognize his surroundings. The only light came from a low fire in the brazier near the center of the cell. The firelight reflected off a thick tangle of red hair; someone was lying on a bedroll against the opposite wall. Memories flooded his mind - a red-haired elf with a melodious voice and gentle hands lulling him to sleep. What was her name? For a moment, all he could recall was her exotically pretty face, luminous skin, emerald eyes, and the feel of her deft fingers. Zoya - she'd said her name was Zoya.

His eyes traveled the small room, noting that there were sufficient supplies for the two of them for several days. He cursed under his breath as he spotted the remains of a robe, his favorite one, hanging near the brazier. This wouldn't be the first time he'd woken with a splitting headache in a strange place with an unfamiliar woman in nothing but his smallclothes, but usually he didn't feel like he had been thrown from a building and impaled on a pike first. His hand rubbed his chest as the memories came back in flashes – the emptiness as the Templars cleansed the docks of magic, the unbearable pressure of their smite, the sickening sound as the sword punched through his chest, the cold darkness of the water. Other than a sensitive patch of skin where he'd been run through, some sore ribs and a splitting headache, he seemed to be on his way to a full recovery. He reached within himself for his healing magic but came up empty. The unanswered questions added to the pounding in his head. Where was he? How did he end up here? Who healed his injuries? Who was this lovely elf and what did she want with him?

Anders cautiously pushed himself into a sitting position, pausing to let the dizziness pass. Simple linen clothing was stacked next to his boots on the edge of the sleeping platform, and he dressed before slowly standing. The clothing was ill-fitting but in good repair; obviously made for someone more gracile than him, it was tighter across his shoulders and chest and shorter in the arms and legs than he would have preferred. But then, he was used to wearing mage's robes; he chuckled to himself as he struggled to remember the last time he'd actually worn pants. He stretched his arms across his chest, hoping the fabric would give enough without tearing to be more comfortable. While he appreciated the simple garments, he couldn't help but wish for a robe.

Once he was sure he wouldn't fall over, he walked to the cell door, testing it on the off-chance it had been left unlocked. No such luck. He continued his tour of the small room, pausing to sniff two empty potion bottles - the remains of healing and mana potions lying among the supplies stacked against the stone wall. It was becoming clear that he wasn't imprisoned by the Templars. They wouldn't have given him a cellmate or left any potions in the cell. And the mana potion hadn't been for him - if he had been given it, his magic would have returned. Perhaps the elf had used it and was the one who healed him.

He rifled through the supplies for more potions but didn't find any. Grabbing a chunk of bread and a cup of water, he returned to the sleeping platform; even these simple actions set his head to pounding. Two books lay next to the platform and he picked them up, sliding back until he was supported by the cell wall. The well-worn bindings and dog-eared pages were proof that the books were well loved and that his cellmate had a taste for adventure and tragic love. He read quietly as Zoya slept, listening for any sign of her waking. All in all, things could be worse - he had food, water, reading materials and a beautiful woman to keep him company. But he was still in a cell, and he itched to be free of it.

He must have dozed off while he was reading because when he awoke, his head was resting on something soft and gentle hands were stroking his head. A feminine voice sang a pretty melody in a language he didn't understand; he wondered if it might be Dalish. Something about the elf's voice and the softness under his head turned his thoughts for a moment to the embroidered pillow his mother had made for him; besides his memories, it was the only thing he had from his life before the Circle. He wondered if he would ever see it again.

Not wanting Zoya to stop what she was doing, Anders lay motionless with his eyes closed. She must have sensed that he was awake as she suddenly went still and quiet. He cracked his eyes open, looking up at her as light from the brazier highlighted her delicate features. "That was a lovely song - please don't stop on my account. It's been a long time since I haven't felt like my head was a drum."

Zoya shifted slightly under him and laid a hand on either side of his head over each temple. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, her eyes unfocused, "You were mumbling and shifting around in your sleep – I thought maybe you were having a bad dream or your fever had returned. "She paused, her expression pained as she swallowed hard. "My mother used to sing that song to me when I had bad dreams or was sick. She never told me what the words meant – perhaps she didn't know." Her eyes refocused as she searched his face. "So your head still hurts?"

"Yes, but not as much as earlier." He raised his hand to his forehead and reached for his magic, but it was the warm glow of her healing powers that drifted over his head. "So you're a mage? An apostate, I'm guessing?"

Anders felt her tense, but the flow of her magic continued, shifting in purpose from exploration to repair. "As are you." She spoke in a flat tone.

"No need to fret, dear lady. I've no intention of turning you over to the Chantry." He lay quietly, enjoying the blissful feel of her hands, unable to recall the last time he'd been so relaxed. After some time, curiosity won out and he spoke again, "I don't recognize you from the Ferelden Circle."

"Is that where you're from?" Zoya deftly shifted the discussion from herself.

Anders played along, "I've spent most of my life there. So, I have you to thank for bringing me back from the dead? Your healing technique is different from anything I've seen - where did you study?"

Zoya's eyes searched his. Her face was a blank mask, but he could nearly read the thoughts behind her expressive eyes. She was wondering how much she should trust him, how much she should tell him, weighing the potential consequences of any information she shared. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she nodded, seeming to reach some sort of decision. "My mother taught me; she was also an apostate. I did as much as I could to heal you, but you were in pretty rough shape - I had to use magic and potions. Even so, there were some moments when I wasn't sure if you would make it. You've been in and out of consciousness and fighting a fever for a couple of days, but I think you're past the worst of it. Those Templars nearly did you in - they left you for dead, you know. What did you do to get them so angry?"

As curious as Anders was about Zoya's mother, he had learned at the Circle not to press his fellow mages to discuss their parents; the stories were often tragic. Anders shrugged, "They don't like it when you keep escaping from the Tower. But they're generally not so rough. Usually, they just haul me back to the Circle dungeons so I can serve my time until I'm ready to escape again." Anders paused to rub pensively at his chin. "I wonder what made this time different."

Zoya's eyes widened in surprise. "How many times have you escaped?"

"Well, let's see… I guess this was the fifth, or was it the sixth. I lose track." He gave her a lopsided grin.

Zoya shook her head, her expression incredulous. "And you were never concerned that they would execute you or make you Tranquil?"

"They can't make you Tranquil if you've passed your Harrowing. And they're not supposed to execute you unless you're a danger to others or you use blood magic."

"So they're not big on following the rules then?" Zoya's fists clenched into balls and the muscles along her jaws twitched.

Anders sat up, turning to look at her with concern. So much venom filled her tone, and he wondered what had happened to her to make her detest Templars so much. It was true that he didn't really care for them himself, but the animosity that darkened her voice was different than the contempt that fueled his desire for escape. He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he had something to tie it back. "I meant to thank you. I would have been dead without your help. I'm not sure how I'll ever repay you." He reached out and placed his hand over Zoya's, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She flinched but didn't pull away from his touch, searching his eyes for a moment before squeezing his hand in return. "Just don't get caught by the Templars again."

~oOo~

The silence woke her, bringing her back to fuzzy awareness. Hours had passed as she rested, and now she finally felt like she was recovering from the massive expenditure of power used to heal Anders. How had her mother done it without giving up so much of her own reserves in the process? The mage had said that he was skilled in healing magic; perhaps he would be willing to share some of his knowledge?

Suddenly she realized why the quiet in the cell had woken her – the mage was no longer there. She called out for him, holding her breath as she waited for a response that never came. Damn him! She'd warned him not to wander far. The tunnels were dangerous, a labyrinth filled with dead ends, cave-ins, and traps set over the years by herself and Adaia. She leapt to her feet, hoping the mage would stay out of harm's way until she found him.

It wasn't difficult to track him through the tunnels; his boot prints left a clear trail along the dusty corridors. She cursed under her breath when she realized where he was going. What sick twist of fate would take his feet in that particular direction? Maybe it was the residual magic there that drew him.

The light from a glowing orb hovering in the center of the chamber spilled out into the tunnel. She crept forward on silent feet, watching the mage make his way around the room. His eyes grew wide as he took in the scorched and battered fighting dummies dressed in makeshift armor, the splintering targets peppered with throwing knives, the heavily patched leather bags hanging from the ceiling on chains, and the racks holding a hodge-podge of arms and armor. He paused before a rack of staves; his doting hand tracing their delicate lines. One in particular caught his attention, tipped with a crystal orb clutched in a dragon's stylized claw. His hand wrapped around it to pull it free just as she called out. "Anders! Don't move!"

Zoya should have expected that he would whirl to face her, the staff held defensively in front of him. And she certainly wasn't surprised to hear the mechanism of the trap trigger. Anders yelped in surprise as his feet were yanked out from under him and he was pulled upward toward the ceiling of the chamber.

Throwing him a scowl, Zoya skirted the swinging mage as she moved to retrieve the staff and reset it on the rack. "Told you not to move," she muttered.

"True enough," Anders replied, the annoyance on his face obvious even as he tried to cover it with a polite smile. "Now, would you be so kind as to get me down from here?"

"Maybe I should leave you dangling there for a bit? Use you for target practice? It's a good thing you're not in your robes, or I would be getting quite a show." Zoya strode to a nearby table, her hand caressing the well-worn, leather-wrapped hilt of a dagger. "I warned you not to wander into the tunnels. You're lucky I found you so quickly and that _this_ was the trap you triggered – there are far worse to be encountered here."

Anders threw his arms up to cover his face as she drew back her hand, releasing the blade in a quick and graceful movement. As the dagger zipped past him, he let out a startled yelp; it sliced through the rope that held him aloft before burying itself in a wooden post. He groaned as he crashed to the floor in a heap, rubbing the shoulder that took the brunt of his awkward landing and looking up at Zoya with a lopsided grin. "You should be so lucky. If I had a silver piece for every time a pretty girl asked me what mages wore under their robes, I wouldn't need to run from the Templars - I could just bribe the Chantry into leaving me be. I guess I'll have to keep the dangers of these tunnels in mind the next time I decide to take a stroll." Wincing, he stood and brushed himself off. "So what is this place?" Anders' eyes combed the room, his feet carrying him slowly throughout as he further explored. Elegant hands reached out to touch the books and items dispersed around the chamber as he passed them, but then hesitated, likely recalling his lesson of only moments ago.

Zoya perched on the edge of a nearby platform, running her fingers over the furs strewn on it. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she finally spoke. "These old slaver tunnels are scattered with rooms such as this - filled with odds and ends left behind - but this one is special. My mother and I came here often to train and study before she died. Most of these things were gathered by her over the years." What she didn't share with Anders was that often it wasn't just the two of them using the space or adding to the collection. The ghosts of her memories shifted throughout the chamber.

_She sat on the edge of the sleeping platform, a book open but forgotten in her lap as she watched Adaia and Duncan spar. Their blades glimmered as they circled each other, striking and blocking in a dance that only looked deadly. Zoya watched them with a critical eye, storing away what she was seeing for her future use. So far, her mother hadn't allowed her to train with any sort of weapon, and Zoya was anxious to start. Adaia's fighting style was quick and acrobatic, her hands and feet equally fast as she lashed out. Somehow Duncan always knew where she would strike, never failing to block, and Adaia likewise always managed to spin out of reach, avoiding every counter._

_Zoya wondered how long they could continue to spar like this before someone was hurt; she couldn't remember ever seeing them injure each other during these training matches. Her thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of one of Duncan's daggers hitting the stone floor. Adaia stepped in to press her advantage, but Duncan grasped her arm as she lunged, squeezing her wrist to make her drop her blade before pulling her tight to his chest. She squirmed in his grip as he lifted her from her feet, but she quickly ceased her protests as he dropped his remaining dagger, gently brushing red tendrils of her hair from her face as he bent down to claim her lips with his own._

_Zoya felt her ears turning red; she had never even seen Adaia and Cyrion kiss this way. Not sure if she should be mad or embarrassed, she let out a small gasp and the book tumbled from her lap. Adaia turned her head to meet her daughter's eyes with a reassuring smile and blushed prettily before gently pushing with dainty hands against Duncan's chest._

_Duncan gave Zoya a sheepish grin as he set her mother gently back on her feet. "Ah… my little magpie, I nearly forgot… I have something for you." Striding across the room to his pack, he retrieved a linen wrapped bundle and beckoned her to him. She moved toward him on hesitant feet, thinking she should be angry with him. Scowling up at him, she opened the package with wary fingers. Seemingly unphased by her response, he smiled at her gently. "I made those for you, so you could learn how to fight with daggers like your mother."_

_Zoya quickly forgot that she wanted to be angry with Duncan as her fingers traced over the carved wood of the practice daggers and wrapped around their hilts. "They're so pretty. Thank you, Duncan. But won't I ruin them if I use them?"_

_"You don't need to worry about that. Would you like me to show you?" He looked to Adaia for approval, and Adaia smiled at them both as she moved to sit on the edge of the sleeping platform._

_And with a simple nod, a fierce grin and a bow to her teacher, her first lesson began._

Zoya's thoughts returned to the room and her present company. Her eyes rested on Anders, standing at a long wooden table and absently paging through a book. There was something strangely comforting about having him here with her in this place.

Anders' gaze shifted to Zoya when he realized she was watching him. "So, do you know how to use all of these weapons?" His arm swept the room.

Zoya nodded, "Yes. My mother felt it was important for me to defend myself without magic. You never know when a Templar might swoop down on you and dispel your magic, right?" She moved around the room, her hands drifting over the familiar objects on the stands and tables. "Have you ever learned to fight without magic?"

Anders swallowed hard and shook his head. "No, although I'm seeing the wisdom in learning."

Her fingers wrapped tenderly around the wooden practice daggers, and she hugged them to herself as she approached Anders. "I would be happy to teach you."

A hungry light illuminated the mage's eyes. "How long would that take?" he asked.

Zoya couldn't help the saucy grin that tugged at her lips. She tossed him a dagger, snickering when he fumbled the catch. "One way to find out."


	5. Chapter 5

Day and night blurred together in the dark of the tunnels. While waiting for his injuries to heal and magic to be restored, Anders tutored Zoya in healing and other fundamental magic, and she instructed him in basic combat. Zoya wasn't sure which of the teachers endured the most hardship, but at least Anders' mishaps hadn't resulted in the training room filling with bolts of lightning or swirling flames. And then there was the cyclone she'd accidentally summoned - the room's weaponry had taken flight like deadly leaves in the wind. Needless to say, both of them had ample opportunity to practice their healing skills. If her misadventures in offensive magic were any indication of the trials of the typical apprentice, Zoya wondered how the Circle Tower remained standing. She hated to concede that perhaps the Templars had at least one positive use – neutralizing spells gone wrong.

From what Zoya's cousins told her, there had been no sign in the Alienage of anyone searching for Anders. She was starting to feel hopeful that the Templars had stopped looking for him. But this hope was tempered with the knowledge that they would both need to return to their lives soon.

Her thoughts turned pensive - with all the recent distractions, it had been easy to forget about the wedding and relocation to Highever looming on the horizon. Zoya's gaze lingered on her companion as he focused on the potion he was preparing. Anders was certainly a pleasant diversion from her life and responsibilities in the Alienage; she hadn't felt this content since before her mother had died. She loved her family, but being here with Anders and openly discussing the wonders and pitfalls of the magic they shared was incredible, something she had no idea she'd needed. Maybe that's why she hadn't told him about her betrothal or that she would be leaving Denerim in less than a fortnight.

As if he knew her thoughts were elsewhere, Anders cleared his throat to get her attention. "Please don't take this as a reflection on your company, which is really quite delightful, but would it be possible to leave these tunnels for a bit? I was thinking we could go to the docks to see if we can find my staff." Anders gave Zoya a hopeful smile.

Guilt twinged in her gut, but Zoya kept her face neutral as she stared down at the herbs she had been mincing. Within days of bringing him to the tunnels, she'd returned to the docks and retrieved his staff; it had thankfully rolled into the shadows of some jumbled shipping crates and not into the water. While she'd intended to return it as soon as she'd determined he wasn't a threat, something was encouraging her to keep it hidden. She preferred to think it was the potential opportunities for mischief rather than being afraid he'd leave as soon as it was returned.

She quirked a curious eyebrow, "Why the sudden interest in finding your staff? I can't imagine that it's still at the docks. But then maybe it ended up in the water? You wouldn't believe the things that end up there. Oh wait… I guess you would." She looked up from her task, giving him a wink and a wry grin. "Besides, it would be far easier to just find you another staff - perhaps you'd like the one with the dragon's claw?"

"You just want to see me hanging upside down by my feet again. Well, you're out of luck, gorgeous - I won't be fooled twice." Anders' smirk shifted into a frown and his brow furrowed. "Seriously though, I want to see if we can find _my_ staff. I assumed it was lost or maybe destroyed during the fight with Templars when I saw it wasn't with my other belongings. But the more I think through what happened that night, the more I'm sure that it's still at the docks somewhere. I _need_ to at least go and look."

Zoya set the knife she was using on the well-worn work table and sauntered to the sleeping platform, perching on its edge and resting her chin on folded hands. "What's so special about this particular staff? Maybe if you tell me what it looks like, that'll trigger my memories from that night."

"It was a gift from a friend and I'm quite attached to it." Anders face was wistful as he spoke, "It's silverite with two serpents entwined and a golden crystal orb between the heads."

Zoya tapped at her chin thoughtfully**.** "Hmmm… that does sound familiar. Now where have I seen a staff like that?" Her face lit up in a mischievous smile before she somersaulted to the back edge of the platform. An agile hand dove between the framing and the wall to wrap around the cool metal of the staff secreted there. "Perhaps it looks like this one?" She sprang to her feet, twirling it lazily between her hands.

Anders beamed as he strode eagerly to the sleeping platform. "Yes, that's my staff! Where did you find it?" The grin faded, "Wait… how long have you had it?"

"If you want it, you'll have to come and get it," she taunted, dancing out of his reach.

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he climbed onto the platform. "You're such a brat sometimes, you know that?"

Zoya shrieked in delight when he lunged for her, gracefully sidestepping and flipping from the platform before dashing to the center of the room. "Spar with me, my dear mage. If you win, it's yours again."

He slid from the platform, grabbing a simple wooden staff from a rack as he approached her warily. They circled each other, Zoya's skilled feints only increasing his frustration. While Anders had proven to be a difficult student with blades and the bow, she had quickly learned that his long years of handling a staff for magic made him a natural at using it as a mundane weapon. She grinned fiercely as they settled into a rhythm, staves clashing and whirling.

He stepped away, twirling the staff easily and breathing deeply to refocus himself before relaxing into a defensive stance and beckoning to her. In the mere seconds it took to gather herself for an attack, he made a quick and elegant gesture with his hand. A glow beneath her feet froze her in her tracks and her body ceased to obey her commands. He smiled wickedly, "Paralysis glyph, gorgeous."

"Hey! That's not fair! You're not allowed to use magic!" Zoya scowled at him.

Anders stroked his chin as he circled her, regarding her with laughter in his eyes. "Hmm… I don't seem to recall you saying anything about magic not being allowed." He plucked the staff from her fingers. "Be glad I didn't hang _you_ upside down." Careful not to step onto the glowing glyph below her feet, he gathered her into a tight hug. Zoya felt her cheeks flush as he whispered his thanks into her ear - the tickle of his lips against her ear and caress of his warmth breath against her neck making her stomach flip-flop and her knees go weak. She was suddenly thankful she was under the effects of the glyph as it was all that kept her on her feet.

~oOo~

Zoya returned from her supply run with fewer provisions than she'd hoped. While she was happy to see Soris and hear the latest report from the Alienage, the news he brought wasn't all good. Shianni had been making Soris and Cyrion crazy as she shifted into wedding planning mode - all she talked about was dresses, flowers, and feasting. And Alarith had refused to extend additional credit to her since she was supposedly employed in the city and could afford to pay for her supplies. She really couldn't blame him. The elves in the Alienage were notorious for acquiring their supplies on credit and not being quick about paying what they owed - he was running a business after all.

Anders looked up from his book when she trudged into the cell, the expectant grin dying on his face. "I'm guessing from your expression that something is wrong?"

Zoya set the crate – sadly light with only a couple of water jugs, a loaf of stale bread and a small bundle of dried meat - next to the dwindling provisions already stashed near her bed roll. "It appears we're now on our own for supplies. We have plenty of water and my cousins can probably squirrel a little food away for us. But we'll have to come up with a different plan if you want to eat enough to keep meat on that lanky frame of yours."

"Lanky? You think I'm _lanky_? Couldn't you have said _manly_ instead?" He clutched his hand to his chest, mock pain twisting his face. "You wound me deeply, woman."

"That's really all you took from what I just said? I guess it's hard to think of you as manly when all you do is talk about how much you miss wearing a dress." She threw an impish grin over her shoulder as she sorted through their supplies**,** trying to get an accurate idea of how much food they had left. "I figure we have rations for one more day, perhaps two if we're careful."

"How many times do I have to tell you? It's a _robe_, not a dress." Anders scolded her.

"It's hard not to call it a dress when it has more embellishments than the one my mother wore to her wedding." Zoya waved the remains of Anders' ruined robe as proof.

Anders flashed a saucy grin, "Well, maybe you'd think it was manly if I told you the advantages of wearing the robe…"

Zoya interrupted him with an impatient wave of her hand as a blush rose on her cheeks. "Anders, I already told you that I don't want to hear about what the Circle mages get up to when they're supposed to be studying."

Anders chuckled at her discomfort. "Your loss – I have _so_ many toe-curling stories I could share." He dropped the grin in favor of a more serious expression. "But I was actually talking about the hidden pockets and the enchanted fabric that provides armoring and protection from spell damage." He shook his head in feigned disappointment. "Really? Such thoughts going through that _innocent_ mind of yours."

Zoya raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sure you were. So do you have any useful insight on how we're going to feed ourselves? Or do I need to go hunt for Alienage 'rabbit.'"

He rose from the platform where he was seated and knelt beside her, ruffling her hair with a teasing hand. "You're cute when you're trying to be so focused and serious. And I'm not falling for that 'rabbit' thing again. I know rat remains when I see them." He turned a little green from the memory of the last time she tricked him into eating one of the large tunnel rodents. "I may be able to help a bit. I have some coin stashed in my pack - it should still be in my room at the Pearl. And I know a woman there who might have some ideas on how to get more coin."

Zoya's eyes widened. "You have a room at the brothel?"

Anders laughed at her surprise. "Sure. The rooms are reasonably cheap and clean, and the patrons and employees tend to mind their own business."

"And what exactly would we need to do to earn that coin?" Zoya raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"If you think I'm suggesting we prostitute ourselves for coin or food, you'd be wrong." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Although, I don't know about you, but I've picked up some skills over the years that could be... lucrative."

"I'm not sure I want to know what those _skills_ might be." Zoya avoided his eyes as she replied. "It appears that you'll finally get your wish to leave the tunnels - we're off to the Pearl. But if we're going there, we'll need different clothes - these scream 'Alienage refugee.'" Zoya looked down at her simple and well-patched tunic in disdain.

"Well, at least you're not _sure _you want to know - that means you're not completely opposed to finding out." He offered a quick wink. "I hesitate to ask, but if we can't afford food, how are we going to afford new clothes?"

"Who says we're going to pay for them?" Zoya strode over to a table and loaded the tools she would need into a small pack. "Or are you opposed to a little burglary?"

~oOo~

Zoya and Anders followed a short side tunnel into Denerim proper, emerging through a hidden panel in a back alley not far from the market. It was close to midday and Zoya stood still in the alley for a moment, her eyes closed to the sun's glare as she luxuriated in its warmth on her skin. Once they had adjusted to the brightness, she turned curious eyes toward Anders, suddenly realizing that she had never seen him in the sunlight. She was surprised to find that he was already studying her. She dropped her gaze to the cobbles below her feet, nervous fingers pushing a lock of hair behind an ear.

He offered her a lopsided smile as he ran his hands over his hair. "I can't help but feel naked out here on the streets without my staff and robes."

Zoya shook her head, a bemused expression on her face. "What is it with the ornate robes and staves anyway? Do mages not realize those things just scream 'Hello, I'm a mage. Please throw those manacles on me, drag me off and lock me in the Circle'?"

"Well, Templars aren't always the brightest. And short of wearing a big sign on our chests, it's the least we can do to make their jobs easier**,**" Anders laughed.

Zoya paused at the mouth of the alley, keen eyes assessing the overall layout and energy of the market. She liked to come here - it was one of the few places in Denerim she could go without drawing much attention and it offered excellent opportunities for people watching. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat mingled with the sounds of street musicians and vendors hawking their wares. All of it blended in a tantalizing medley that lured them into the colorful chaos of the market. People of all status, country and race moved between the vendors, their eyes focused on the wares rather than on each other. It was a cutpurse's paradise – Zoya let her eyes drift, picking several out from the crowd.

Zoya linked her arm through Anders' as they strolled through along the rows of vendors, looking at the wares and chatting amiably about markets in other cities he had visited while on the run from the Templars. Their exploration of the tunnels over the weeks had uncovered a few trinkets of value to sell and Zoya stepped back to allow Anders to haggle with an Antivan merchant. The sad truth was that the merchant was likely to assume the items were stolen and alert the City Guard if she tried to sell them; he was also likely to pay far more coin to Anders for these items than he would to her.

As she waited for Anders' to conclude his business, Zoya's attention was captured by a pretty, but ill-mannered, human woman. She watched with narrowed eyes as the woman threw a large basket full of unfolded clothing down on the ground in a huff before seizing a small tow-headed child by his arm, swatting him squarely on his rump as she gave him a colorful scolding. Maintaining a vice-like grip on the child's arm, the woman snatched up the basket to perch on her hip and dragged the child out of the market. Zoya was surprised that others turned a deaf ear to the woman's outburst; that type of behavior would never have been overlooked in the Alienage.

Zoya steered Anders along the vendor's tables, keeping the foul-mouthed laundress in her sights until the woman disappeared into a residence on the edge of the market. Shrill yelling and cursing could be heard even through the closed door, and it continued as the door burst open and five children tumbled out. The woman left the building shortly after, locking the door behind her and stalking off to a residence a dozen or so doors away.

Zoya's eyes twinkled with an eager light. "I need you to be a lookout – give me some sort of signal if she comes back while I'm still in there." She hesitated just long enough for him to nod in agreement before she guided him to the door, ducking behind him to pick the lock.

Within the space of a few breaths, she had silently slipped into the residence. Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light in the small main room, she began to search the colorful stacks of neatly folded garments. It didn't take long for her to find clothing that would work for Anders - fitted leather breeches, a simple cotton shirt, and a soft leather jerkin in understated earth tones. While they had agreed to find clothing that was inconspicuous, she knew he would grumble that she hadn't brought him mage's robes. She continued rummaging through the piles, finally coming across something that looked remarkably similar to the one that had been destroyed. Her fingers tingled from the enchantments woven into the sumptuous fabric as she stuffed it, as well as the other garments, into her pack.

Finding clothing for herself, however, was going to be more difficult. Few elves could afford to have their clothes laundered, and she was smaller, in both height and build, than a human woman. She tore through the piles of clothing, tossing the discarded garments aside, until she found something that looked like it would fit. Quickly stripping out of her simple tunic and leggings, she stashed them in her pack before sliding into the narrowly cut dress. Her fingers lingered over the deep green brocade of the fitted bodice as she tightened the laces. As she searched the room for a mirror, a lock box on the mantel caught her eye; she didn't bother resisting the impulse to pick its simple lock and help herself to some of the coin within.

Zoya's heart leapt into her throat when she heard Anders speaking loudly to someone on the other side of the door; she quickly recognized the laundress' grating voice. Looking around frantically she realized that not only was the once neatly folded clothing strewn about the room but that there was nowhere to hide. She took a deep breath, reminding herself she had just the right spell to deal with this type of situation. Grabbing a cloak from one of the stacks of clothing and pulling it on, she let her eyes drift out of focus until she could visualize the Veil. Her fingers reached out, feeling for the ethereal fabric that separated the mundane from the spirit worlds and wrapping it around herself just as the laundress burst into the room with Anders on her heels.

Both humans scanned the room, their faces pinched and pale. The laundress cast horrified eyes at her hard work now strewn about the room, while Anders searched the room for any sign of Zoya. He quickly masked his surprise that she wasn't anywhere in sight.

The scowl on the woman's face chilled Zoya to the bone. "Them brats of mine must've been in here. I told 'em not to come back until dark, I did. And they tore up the place – I'll skin 'em alive."

Zoya couldn't let those children be punished for her carelessness. She suddenly thought of a way to redirect the blame for the mess and maybe keep the woman from further mistreating them while still having a bit of fun. She could only hope that Anders would catch on to her scheme and follow her lead.

She pulled magic into herself, channeling it to set her skin aglow with white light before slipping back through the Veil. In the instant she became visible again, she raised luminous arms dramatically over her head as she recreated the cyclone from the training room - only instead of weapons, this time it was a colorful riot of cloth that spun throughout the room.

She spoke in the most menacing voice she could manage, her lambent face made ominous by shadows from the cloak's hood. "You shall not harm the children! It is your abuse of them that has brought me here from the Fade, my only purpose to defend them. Harm those innocent souls and I shall punish you for eternity! I shall strip the spirit from your body and toss it into the Black City itself!"

The woman's eyes were wide with fear, her face pale as she lurched back from Zoya, stumbling over discarded garments on the floor before finally succeeding in pressing her back against a wall. As Zoya continued her dramatics, assailing the woman with further threats, the laundress' mouth moved frantically, the words lost in the wind.

Zoya could see the glint of mischief in Anders' eyes when he spoke, "My dear lady, you have angered a spirit from the Fade, one of the first children of the Maker. Only by swearing an oath to Him that you will never lay a hand on your children again will this spirit depart and leave you be."

The woman continued to gibber nonsensically, hugging her arms tight around herself. Anders spoke, his voice stern. "Do you swear by the Maker?" The woman's head jerked in a gesture resembling a nod. Anders made significant looking gestures with his hands as spoke again, "Spirit, your task is complete. Now begone." As he made one last dramatic flourish, Zoya slipped back through the Veil, the cyclone dissipating and clothing dropping from the air as she disappeared from sight.

Anders bowed to the woman and moved to exit the house. She spoke with a quavering voice as the door opened, "Thanks to you, sir. I don't know what would have been done if you wasn't here." She moved on unsteady feet to the lockbox on the mantle and unlocked it, grabbing several coins and pressing them into Anders' hand.

"Yes, well, remember your promise. You don't want the spirit to return, do you?" The woman paled and nodded her head solemnly at Anders as he walked out the door. Zoya slipped out unseen in his wake, following him into the shadows of a nearby alley before stepping back through the Veil.

Anders' eyes widened as she suddenly reappeared in front of him. "Andraste's flaming knickers! Where did you come from? What was that all about?"

Zoya flashed a playful smile. "Oh**,** I was with you the whole time - it's just a stealth thing my mother taught me. There was no way I was going to let that awful woman get away with threatening to hurt her kids. That was quick thinking on your part by the way - thanks for playing along!" Clinging to his hands, she mimicked the laundress' voice when she spoke again. "Oh you handsome man... I don't know what would have been done if you wasn't here. You should get a reward for being so brave, you should." She stepped in close to him, rising up on her tiptoes until their faces were close enough that she could feel his breath and see the golden flecks in his irises. She leaned in closer, but before their lips could meet, a playful smile snuck across her face and she spun away. She bowed as she reached into the pack and pulled out the pilfered garments, presenting them with a flourish. "Your new clothing, my lord."

He inspected each piece, his lip curling in mock disdain "Well, they're not robes, and they're so drab, but I guess I'll just have to make do."

Zoya shrugged out of the cloak and shoved it into her pack. "Drop it about the robes already. Now hurry up and change!"

"So bossy…" Anders scanned the area to make sure they were alone before he stripped quickly out of his simple tunic and pants and pulled on the new garments. Balling the discarded clothing up, he handed them to Zoya to put in her pack. She removed a belt with a sheathed dagger from the pack and fastened it around his waist. "You don't expect me to actually use this thing if we get into trouble, do you?"

"Well, it's not like I can carry it. Don't worry; I'll be the one using it if there's trouble." Zoya chuckled at the thought of Anders using the dagger.

Anders feigned gratitude. "I'm so lucky you're here to protect me." Finally taking a moment to look her over, he grinned in appreciation. "We clean up pretty well, don't you think?"

The pair exited the alley, skirting the crowds in the marketplace as they headed toward the Pearl. The laundress' children were playing tag on the edge of the market. One of the younger children ran up to Zoya, her eyes curious. "Are you an elf? I bet you are – I can tell by your ears. Ma says all elves are lazy and dirty, but I think you're real pretty."

Zoya smiled gently at the girl. "Do you and your siblings like sweets?"

She nodded eagerly "Yeah, but ma says we're bad and don't deserve no sweets."

Zoya reached for the girl's hand, pressing a coin into her dirty palm. "There's a woman at the edge of the market who makes the best cookies - here's a coin to buy some. Just don't tell your mother..."

The child looked up at Zoya, a bright smile stretching across her face, before herding her siblings in the direction that Zoya had indicated.

"You do realize that coin could have bought us a meal." Anders' hand suddenly engulfed hers, squeezing gently.

"True. But I'll gladly trade a meal to see smiles like that - those kids need a moment of happiness." Zoya watched the children wistfully as they scampered across the market. She sighed heavily. "Well, we better be on our way. The Pearl awaits."

"You know, if you're still feeling generous, forty silver once we get to the Pearl would be all it takes to put a smile on my face and give me far longer than a moment of happiness."

She raised a delicate eyebrow, regarding him quietly for a moment before delivering a playful jab to his gut that nearly doubled him over.

Anders muttered just loud enough for her to hear. "I guess I deserved that."

"Yeah, you really did." She rose up on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his stubbled cheek before sauntering away.


	6. Chapter 6

"Ah… Warden Commander, so good to see you again. You're here to pick up the armor? I'm very pleased to say that Wade has just finished." Herren's voice was cheerful as he leaned against the wooden counter, but then he was _always _happiest right before he got paid.

Wade burst out of his workshop, wearing a scowl as he rubbed his hands roughly across his heavily stained apron. "And I wouldn't let a festering swine wear it!"

"I don't see anything wrong with the armor - it's amazing!" Herren attempted to pacify the armorer while offering Duncan an apologetic smile.

Wade ignored him as he brandished pieces of the armor he was working on. "Are you blind as well as stupid? It's garbage! I need more time to make it perfect."

Duncan sighed, rubbing at his forehead to soothe the throbbing starting there. He'd been in a foul temper since arriving in Denerim two days ago, and dealing with Wade wasn't helping. But the finicky armorer was the best in Denerim and Duncan knew it was best to humor him. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping to offset the impatience he was feeling before he spoke again. "I defer to your judgment, Wade. But that armor _must _be on the next caravan to Ostagar."

Wade's face flushed scarlet as he blustered, "I'm an artist – you can't put a deadline on art!" He stormed back into his workshop, muttering loudly to himself.

Duncan turned stern eyes on Herren. "Convince him to finish on time, and I'll pay a bonus."

Herren nodded eagerly, "Of course, Commander - anything for the Grey Wardens."

Duncan exited the armory, squinting through the glaring sunlight toward the bustle of the marketplace. Instantly, his nose was assaulted by the stench of over-run sewers and garbage, too-ripe produce, and greasy market food. He didn't relish having to weave his way through the crush of people that seemed to fill every street.

He'd been away from Ostagar for more than a month in his quest for Grey Warden recruits. It felt like he'd visited every city, town, village, and freehold in Ferelden. Denerim was to be his final stop before heading back to Ostagar; he'd returned here to collect armor from Wade's Emporium and supplies for the Joining from the Warden's cache as well as scout for additional recruits. But every delay, every mislaid plan was keeping him here far longer than he'd anticipated. His gut had been telling him for weeks that he needed to hasten his return to Ostagar, to the rest of the Ferelden Wardens. The letter he'd received this morning only confirmed it.

Duncan fingered the rolled parchment in his pouch, extracting and smoothing it before sinking onto a bench outside Wade's Emporium. Ignoring the contents for the moment, he smiled fondly as he thought of the lad who had penned the letter. Even though Alistair was one of the newest Grey Wardens, having been part of the last Joining six months ago,Duncan had known the lad since he was just a babe. He could almost see him writing this letter - his head bowed over the parchment, shoulders tense as he clenched the quill in callused fingers, the tip of his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he focused on making every letter just so. He'd received many letters from Alistair over the years, and every time he wondered at the careful penmanship likely beaten into him during his many years studying at the Chantry.

_Duncan,_

_Evan has asked me to tell you that all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, except you of course, are now at Ostagar. The two new recruits, Daveth and Jory, are also here. They're camped in the ruins instead of in the valley with the rest of the Wardens, just like you ordered. Jory has been drilling with the King's troops. But Daveth - he's been spending his time getting into trouble. Evan says the next time Daveth gets caught stealing, he's going to let the King's guard put him in the stocks to teach him a lesson. From what Daveth has told me, I don't think it'll make much of a difference._

_Evan has also asked me to tell you that King Cailan recently requested a Warden accompany each of the patrols he sends into the Wilds so his soldiers are alerted if darkspawn are nearby._ _The darkspawn numbers are increasing, and Evan says that he and the other Wardens are seeing things that make him think the Darkspawn are becoming better organized._

_In the last couple of weeks, patrols have encountered genlock scouts in advance of larger groups that also have hurlocks, alphas, and even emissaries. The darkspawn have been setting traps for the troops. Not just simple snares, but more elaborate ones where genlocks get the patrol's attention and then lure them back to the larger group. Just last week, an entire detachment was nearly wiped out when they were lured into a ravine where the genlock archers rained arrows down on them. The darkspawn put the corpses on display in places where our soldiers are most likely to see them, like at trail crossroads just outside Ostagar. It's almost as if they're purposely trying to frighten the troops. It seems to be working; I've heard that desertions have increased._

_Evan is concerned that sending Wardens with the patrols will only further reduce our numbers, which are already too few. He fears that these occasional skirmishes will take their toll and make us ineffective should there be a large, organized push by the darkspawn. He's also concerned that the king isn't taking the darkspawn threat very seriously. The king speaks of victories and glory, but says nothing of the men losing their lives every day. Maybe he has to talk that way to keep up troop morale, I don't know._

_There is one more thing I need to tell you about. What I wrote earlier about all of the Wardens being here – that's not entirely true. Kalvin is gone. He was part of the group ambushed in the ravine. We can only assume he's dead as his body wasn't among the others at the crossroads. Evan was surprised Kalvin didn't sense the group of darkspawn waiting in ambush. But the truth is Kalvin was never very good at sensing them. He made me swear not to tell the other Wardens. Maybe if I'd told you or Evan, he wouldn't have been out on that patrol. Or maybe if I'd been with him instead of with the new recruits, I'd have sensed the darkspawn and we'd have avoided the ambush. Either way, I feel like it's my fault Kalvin and those men died. I'm the only one left from my Joining now._

_I hope you return to Ostagar soon. Safe travels and may the Maker watch over you._

Duncan felt some relief that Evan, his second in command, wasn't sending Alistair out with the patrols. In retrospect, Duncan wasn't sure he'd done Alistair any kindness when he recruited him. The lad had a good heart, and it was obvious from his letter that he was not taking the death of his comrade well. But Duncan recalled that in the end, it was the lad's strength of character that had convinced Duncan to recruit him into the Wardens.

_Duncan almost didn't recognize Alistair – he'd filled out considerably since the last time Duncan had seen him. Where was once an awkward man-child now stood a warrior in meticulously shined armor, his sword moving in fluid arcs as he deflected attacks with his shield. While he wasn't the most skilled fighter in the tourney, there was something about Alistair's easy confidence as he faced off against each opponent that reminded Duncan of the lad's father._

_With each victory, Alistair would remove his helmet, a sheepish grin on his face as he offered his hand to his opponent, pulling them to their feet and clapping them on a pauldron. Even as he reached the latter stages of the tourney, and was bested by one senior Templar after another, Alistair stayed enthusiastic and upbeat. Each time he rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and offered his opponent hearty congratulations on their victory._

_Alistair grinned widely as Duncan approached at the end of the tourney, his grip strong as they clasped each other's arms affectionately. "I thought I did pretty well – up until the end that is."_

_"I understand congratulations are in order – that you're to take your vows this afternoon." Duncan watched as the grin dropped from Alistair's face, his complexion suddenly ashen. He knew from Alistair's letters that he was desperately unhappy in the Chantry, and the lad's reaction to Duncan's query made that clear. "You do have other options – you could join the Wardens."_

_Duncan chuckled to himself as Alistair struggled to contain his excitement, not unlike a pup ordered to sit and then presented with a treat held just out of reach. "You'd let me join the Wardens - with you? Yes – I would much rather do that! How soon can we leave?"_

Duncan had learned long ago to trust his gut when it came to these things. Alistair was obviously miserable in the monastery, and Duncan saw no need to leave the lad there to suffer any further. The Grand Cleric had stubbornly refused to release Alistair from her service, and Duncan had been forced to enact the Right of Conscription. Alistair's obvious glee at leaving likely didn't help her attitude. He knew his actions hadn't earned the Wardens any friends among the Ferelden Chantry.

With the recent loss of a Warden at Ostagar, Duncan knew it was imperative that he find additional recruits. In his travels across Ferelden in preparation for this latest Joining, he'd found few that showed promise. Daveth, a cutpurse who had the unfortunate luck of choosing Duncan as his mark, was a habitual offender the City Guard planned to hang until Duncan conscripted him. Jory was a former knight of Arl Eamon's who had done well enough in the Highever tournament to garner Duncan's attention. There had been another, the daughter of Teyrn Cousland in Highever, but her father had been insistent that she not be recruited. Duncan had complied with the teyrn's request; he was loath to use the Right of Conscription too often for fear of further alienating the nobles.

Duncan knew the Wardens needed to tread carefully; it hadn't been that long since King Maric had lifted the Wardens' exile from Ferelden. The king had traveled into the Deep Roads with the Wardens, seeing and experiencing first hand their battle against the darkspawn. Duncan had considered Maric a close friend and ally. Maric's son, Cailan, was a good man but he wasn't the leader his father had been. Evan was correct in his assessment of their young king; he was far too concerned with personal glory and besting his father's heroic exploits. Cailan looked to the Wardens to give him opportunities for greatness, which meant he was generous in allowing conscriptions and granting other Warden requests. It was unfortunate that the other Ferelden nobles didn't share Cailan's need for generosity.

Since returning to Denerim, Duncan had approached Vaughan Urien, the Arl of Denerim's son, in the hopes that he could enlist Vaughan's assistance in identifying other potential recruits. Despite orders from the Arl, who was at Ostagar with the army, the young noble was far from cooperative. Like so many other aristocrats he had dealt with in his journeys throughout Ferelden, Vaughan showed him only thinly veiled hostility and smug superiority, and he certainly didn't believe that another Blight had begun.

Duncan rose from the bench with a sigh and pushed through the crowd in the market. His hands twitched with the memory of a time when a crowd such as this would have kept his hands busy stealing from unsuspecting shoppers. Even after all this time, his eyes wandered over the crowd, identifying the most lucrative marks.

A flash of red on the edge of the market captured Duncan's attention. A young, female elf moved gracefully through the crowd, her arm linked with a tall human's. A delicate hand gestured dramatically as she spoke. Duncan couldn't hear her tale, but the girl's body language and the mirthful reaction of her companion told him more than any words. As the sun glinted off the copper highlights in her hair and a wide smile brightened her expressive face, Duncan's heart lurched in his chest. His thoughts suddenly filled with ghosts from his past.

_As he set up camp, Duncan watched Adaia move on silent feet through the jumbled ruins. Deft fingers traced the worn symbols etched into the stone, her brow furrowed in concentration._

_Adaia turned to Duncan, emerald eyes regarding him thoughtfully. "I wish I could read what these symbols say. Imagine the knowledge we'd gain if we could translate them. What if they hold the secret to defeating the darkspawn? Or impart some other great wisdom?"_

_Duncan stacked wood in the fire pit and sat on debris from the ruin. "Or some king bragging about what a great ruler he was? Or even better, maybe they're a recipe for rabbit stew?" He gestured at the fire pit, "Care to do the honors?"_

_The music of her laughter echoed off the remains of granite walls, bringing life to the stillness that surrounded them. "Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me that you're hungry?" She perched next to him, a negligible gesture summoning flames to the kindling. "It's your turn to cook, you know."_

_Adaia leaned back into him and his arm wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest. His breath caught as she turned to gaze up at him, a dazzling smile playing across her soft lips. His fingers tangled in her hair as he buried his face in the lush red waves, breathing in her unique scent of wildflowers and leather. "Our meal can wait." His lips traveled along her jaw until finally reaching the searing heat of her lips. She groaned as she melted into him, her nimble fingers working quickly to strip him of his armor._

The abrupt return from his memories left his head pounding and his chest aching. The emptiness from Adaia's loss was as fresh now as it had been five years ago. These lapses into memory seemed to be happening more frequently. Perhaps he could blame the lack of rest; his dreams made sleep unpleasant of late.

Duncan's eyes searched the market again; he flinched when he caught sight of her. This young elf had to be Zoya. She looked so much like her mother, but then she had always favored Adaia strongly. He hadn't seen the girl since shortly after her mother had been killed.

_Duncan could only stare blankly at Valendrian. He must have misheard - she couldn't be gone. There was no way Adaia would have let herself be captured by the Templars. The Elder lay a sympathetic hand on Duncan's shoulder. Duncan looked up numbly as the door to the Elder's home flew open. _

_Brilliant green eyes, so like Adaia's, glared at him. She howled as she launched herself at him, pounding at his breastplate with her small fists. "Where were you? Why didn't you come? Why didn't you stop them? Oh Maker, they killed her. Right there on the docks. Why weren't you there?" _

_Unspent tears burned his eyes as he gently captured her hands to keep her from hurting herself. He held her tight while she sobbed and screamed in anguish until her tears were exhausted and her voice gave out._

_Cyrion stormed into the Elder's home, prying Zoya away from Duncan and tucking her under a protective arm. His eyes were bloodshot and deeply shadowed, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "You've no right to be here, shem. This is all your fault – you just couldn't let them be. Get out of here and leave us alone."_

_Valendrian's face expressed his condolences even as he silently pleaded with Duncan to leave. Duncan turned and made for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle and his forehead resting against the smooth wood. He wanted nothing more than to comfort the girl; he knew he was a coward for leaving. Zoya was right - if he'd been in Denerim, had known Adaia had been detained by the Templars, he could have saved her by conscripting her into the Wardens. But then if he'd conscripted her years ago as he wanted, none of this would have come to pass. An ache began at his core, threatening to consume him. He turned back to speak to Zoya, but Valendrian shook his head sadly. Duncan had no rights here, no claim on the girl. He hung his head in guilt as he silently retreated._

His chest tightened as he watched the girl from a distance. Duncan had left father and daughter alone in the Alienage to grieve, and he'd not returned there since. And now here she was in the marketplace, with a _human _– Duncan couldn't help but wonder what the lass was up to.

Whatever she was doing in the marketplace, he had to admire her focus. It took an old thief to know it, but Zoya was observing a residence on the market's outskirts, continuing to chat with her human companion while she kept discreet watch. When it was clear the residence was empty, she nonchalantly approached the building with her companion, picking the lock so quickly that one would never know that she had not just simply opened the door, and entered. His heart caught in his throat when the laundress returned a short time later and entered the residence with Zoya's companion in tow. His concern grew when the man left alone shortly after. Where was Zoya?

Duncan calmed his breathing and wondered if the girl had kept up the skills Adaia had taught her. She'd obviously maintained her lockpicking talents, so perhaps she was equally adept at the other abilities her mother taught her. Adaia had been an incredibly talented woman – she could stealth her way through a crowded market without notice, could pick the most complex dwarven lock, and was deadly with a blade. It was her skill with magic, with the Fade in particular, that made her an invaluable companion. It was these skills that provided Duncan the excuse he needed to continue to seek her assistance over the years. Before Adaia's death, she'd been passing much of what she knew to her daughter. But Zoya had been young when her mother died; her training was incomplete. And without Adaia or Duncan there, she would have had no one to continue her instruction.

He sighed in relief when Zoya and her companion emerged from the alley and headed back through the market. They were now wearing different garments, which explained Zoya' interest in the laundress. But how had she escaped the residence without Duncan seeing? A flicker of hope burned in his chest - could it be that she had her mother's affinity with the Fade?

Duncan followed the pair through the streets and across the bridge, careful to stay out of view. They weren't making any efforts at stealth. As far as anyone would see, they were just two companions out for an afternoon stroll. But if Zoya was anything like her mother, she would be very aware of her surroundings. If anything was amiss or anyone showed an interest in their movements, it was likely Zoya would be prepared to respond.

He was shocked when the pair reached what seemed to be their destination. What business could Zoya have at the Pearl? Duncan bristled as the human opened the door and gestured for Zoya to enter; he could see her fighting to keep her face neutral despite her apprehension. Surprised by the instinctual need to intervene, he fought the urge to follow them into the brothel - Zoya would be sure to spot him. There was no way of telling how she would react to seeing him, and it was probably best that their reunion not happen in such a place.

Duncan turned back the way he'd come, his feet taking him to the Alienage. He needed to speak with Valendrian, and it was not likely to be a pleasant discussion. Years ago, he'd deferred to Valendrian when he had tried to recruit Adaia into the Wardens. He wasn't going to repeat that mistake with Zoya. His gut told him that he'd found his final recruit – he wasn't leaving Denerim without her.

_**A/N - Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited. Your support and encouragement has been a wonderful thing! And a special thank you to my glorious beta, Eve Hawke *hugs* For those of you who were readers of the original posting, we have now caught up to where we ended the first time. I'm excited to finally venture into completely new chapters - I hope you stay tuned...**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N - Writing this chapter has put me in an amorous mood :) In that spirit, I would like to extend my love to my wonderful readers, especially to those who have taken the time to share their support and thoughts through their reviews, favorites and follows. And to Eve Hawke, my incredibly talented and patient beta, I send enthusiastic hugs and kisses for your help on this chapter :D**_

Zoya had never been in a brothel before, had never suspected she might find herself in one, and wasn't terribly excited about going into one now. The young elves who left the Alienage to work at the Pearl generally didn't return home to share tales. Maybe they didn't come back because they were ashamed of their new trade, or perhaps their new life was better in some way than their old; Zoya couldn't begin to guess.

The devout Andrastians among her people viewed sex outside of marriage to be a sin against the Maker, so a son or daughter who worked in a brothel would be a source of tremendous shame. Zoya knew that her father would be furious if he knew she was spending her afternoon at the Pearl, and with a human apostate no less. But her discomfort wasn't with prostitution itself; she wasn't terribly devout after all and she figured that what consenting adults did in private was none of the Chantry's business. The unease she was experiencing stemmed from not knowing what to expect once she passed through the heavy wooden door. Her imagination ran wild with what she might encounter once she entered the building. She stifled a nervous giggle as an image popped into her head of prostitutes lined up side by side, like wheels of cheese in a vendor's cart, as patrons squeezed, poked, prodded, and sniffed to pick the one they wanted.

Hoping her anxiety about entering the Pearl wasn't obvious to her companion, she snuck a quick look at Anders. No such luck – he was eyeing her with an amused expression. Lately it seemed he delighted in how easily abashed she was; he almost seemed happiest when her cheeks were three shades of red.

Anders pulled the door open and bowed slightly, giving her a lopsided grin as he gestured for her to enter ahead of him. She paused just inside the entry, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. The cloying smell of perfume and incense, pipe smoke and alcohol assaulted her senses; the pungent odors burning her eyes and nose were strong enough to leave a taste in the back of her throat as she inhaled. Zoya peered at Anders in surprise as his hand suddenly found hers, the gentle tightening of his fingers and reassuring smile offering encouragement; she had assumed that he would tease her about being so readily flustered, not offer quiet support.

He maintained a gentle grip on her hand as he guided her through the foyer into the main room. "First time in a brothel? I remember my first time..." His eyes became distant as he slipped into memory. He offered Zoya a self-conscious smile when he noticed her watching him expectantly. "No need to fear - no one here is likely to bite you, love. Unless you pay for it, of course."

She squared her shoulders and forced a neutral expression, determined to shift the attention from her unease. "Not fear - just concern and caution. Wasn't this where the Templars came after you just a few weeks ago? Now I don't know much about what Templars do in their spare time - when they're not harassing mages - but I'm guessing they don't frequent brothels. So that makes me wonder if someone here, maybe one of the workers, might have sold you out to the Chantry."

Anders swallowed hard, uncertainty behind his eyes. "They approached me right after I left here, actually. I guess I hadn't considered someone from the Pearl – you may have a point."

Zoya's eyes discreetly swept the room - there wasn't a big crowd. Perhaps midday wasn't a popular time for debauchery. A few men sat at simple wooden tables scattered throughout the room, each being entertained by one or more scantily clad workers. The brothel apparently catered to a wide variety of desires. Humans, elves, and dwarves of both genders, even some of questionable gender, enthusiastically displayed their "wares." A pair of large, battle-scarred guards wearing well-used arms and armor stood at the entrance to a hallway behind the main bar area. Based on their grim faces and wary stances, Zoya imagined they were exceptionally good at their jobs and potentially quick to resort to violence. She fought to maintain an air of calm indifference when raucous laughter and catcalling erupted from a group of people drinking and playing cards in a back corner of the room. Her nerves already ran close to the surface; it wouldn't do to react defensively to every loud voice or sound.

Anders steered Zoya to the empty bar near the back of the establishment where a tall, voluptuous woman in a finely crafted dress surveyed the activity in the room. She looked at Anders appraisingly as she spoke her well-rehearsed introduction, "Welcome to the Pearl. My name is Sanga, and I'm the proprietress of this fine establishment. What can I get for you, honey."

"Hello, Sanga. It's good to see you again. I know I've been away for a bit, but I'm here to retrieve my possessions. Are they still in my room?" Anders gave the woman his most winning smile.

The proprietress searched his face, giving Anders a hard look as she recognized him. "Well, if it isn't the wayward mage. I didn't recognize you without your robe and staff. You don't have a room anymore – I had it cleaned out when I heard the Templars finally caught up with you."

"Well, as you can see, the rumors are untrue. I apologize for disappearing – I was briefly… indisposed. Do you still have my things?" Anders may have kept the friendly smile on his face, but it wasn't reaching his eyes and the muscles along his jaw were starting to twitch.

Sanga raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms below her ample bosom. "I may. Do you have the coin to pay for its storage?"

"I had some coin in my pack. I can pay if you return it to me." Anders' smile was turning into a grimace. His eagerness to retrieve his belongings was obvious - Zoya guessed that Sanga would likely use his need against him.

She waved a dismissive hand at him. "I've already taken any coin from your pack to cover the fee to clean your room. Had you left anything of value, I'd have sold it to cover my expenses. You want your pack, you'll have to pay me a sovereign for storage."

Anders turned to Zoya, his hand clasped around her arm as he pulled her a short distance from the bar. He cast an anxious glance at Sanga as he spoke in a strained voice. "I have 30 silver from the market. How much coin do you have?"

Zoya retrieved her coin purse and peered inside. "About the same. Are you sure about paying this woman to get your pack? A sovereign seems pretty costly just for storage, and we need that coin for food."

He let out a heavy sigh, a hand rubbing at his forehead. "I'd say I told you so about the coin you handed over to those urchins earlier, but even with it we'd be short. Andraste's flaming knickers, I _really_ need that pack. Everything that means anything to me is in there."

Sanga was staring intently at Zoya; she cleared her throat to gain Anders' attention. "I might be willing to trade your pack for services rendered. Your elf might prove popular with some of my clients." Her gaze shifted to Anders. "Or there's that electricity trick of yours - several of my girls are still atwitter about that one. I'm sure I have clients who would be willing to pay good coin to partake."

Anders turned to Zoya with a questioning look. She frowned at him, her eyes growing wide as the color rose on her cheeks. "You can't seriously be thinking…"

The tension in Anders' face softened for a moment as he chuckled and shook his head, as though astounded that she would even need to inquire. "Of course not. I was just going to ask if you had any ideas for where we can get more coin."

Zoya grasped Anders' hand, leading him further from the bar and turning so her back was to Sanga. She folded her arms, her fingers lightly tapping her upper arms as she chewed her lower lip in thought. "We don't need coin. If we can figure out where to find your pack, I'm sure I can retrieve it without anyone being the wiser."

A small gasp escaped Zoya's lips and her heart leapt in her chest as a throaty, feminine voice sounded near enough to her ear that she could feel warm breath tickling her skin. "I may know of a way to assist you, sweet thing."

Zoya quietly exhaled, forcing her muscles to relax as she shifted her weight away from the woman. How had she managed to get so close without giving herself away? Trying to keep a calm expression, Zoya's eyes swept over the stunning newcomer. Dark waves of hair rolled down her back and spilled over her shoulders, framing a pretty face with amber eyes. Tall leather boots climbed her long, shapely legs; a white tunic corseted at the waist offset the darkness of her skin and accentuated her ample curves. A heavy, ornate, gold necklace glinted as it cascaded into her cleavage and a gold stud shimmered below her full lower lip. This was a woman who knew her own beauty and the best way to highlight it.

A wide grin spread across Anders' face as he turned to greet her. "Hello Isabela. I was hoping I might run into you here."

Isabela laid her hand on Anders' chest, sliding his jerkin between her thumb and fingers and looking up at him through thick, dark lashes. "Well, if it isn't my favorite apostate with the magic fingers." She circled him, her hand tracing a delicate path across his chest and back as her eyes wandered over him appraisingly. "Mmmm… the pants are so much better than the robes, by the way – they show off your… assets… nicely. Where have you been? It's been so boring without you around." Isabela gave Anders an impressive pout before turning her gaze to Zoya. "And who's your exotic friend? I don't I think I've seen her around before."

Anders introduced the women with a sheepish grin. "So Isabela, what were you saying about assistance?"

Zoya felt a weight pressing on her chest at the realization that Anders knew this woman and they were obviously well acquainted; she wondered just _how_ well they knew each other. Reaching out to grasp Anders' arm, she shook her head in warning. "We shouldn't talk about this here - too many ears. Isabela, do you have a room?"

"I've no need for a room, sweet thing - my ship is down at the docks. If you're wanting privacy, we could go there. I think you'll find that my cabins are quite… comfortable." Isabella's gaze flitted over Zoya as she offered a saucy grin.

Zoya's cheeks burned crimson. "Ummm…maybe another time." She met Anders' gaze, her eyes pleading with him to speak up, but he only smiled and shook his head, letting her know she was on her own. Frustration was obvious in her voice when she spoke again. "Could you please just get us a room?"

Isabela rolled her eyes, "Is she always this bossy?" Sauntering to the bar, she slid some coin to Sanga for a bottle of rum and the use of a room. She led them past the guards and through the entrance of a wide hallway lined with doors. Zoya wasn't sure what she'd expected, maybe something seedier, but she was astonished at how normal this private area looked. Wooden benches with soft cushions, shelves filled with books and linens, and sideboards with flower vases lined the hallway. The room itself was even more normal; simple and clean with a large canopied bed dominating the space.

Isabela shamelessly deposited herself in Anders' lap as soon as he was seated on the end of the bed, her arm draped around his neck. She winked at Zoya, patting the bed next to them. Zoya shook her head, the color rising again in her cheeks; she pulled a stool to the end of the bed instead, perching on it with an expectant look. Isabela shrugged. "So you really want to jump right into business?" She took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Anders.

He took a deep pull from the bottle before passing it to Zoya with an apologetic smile. "Afraid so. You said you could help us?"

"Let's just say that I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine." She chuckled to herself. "But then if you do that electricity thingy, I won't be able to resist scratching yours, will I?"

Isabela's words caught Zoya mid-swallow; she choked and nearly sprayed rum over them both. Wiping a hand across her mouth, she raised an eyebrow in Anders' direction. "What is it with the women in this place and their obsession with your 'magic fingers' and this electricity thing?"

Anders gave her a lopsided grin. "Get me back my pack and I'll show you."

Isabela giggled, "Oh, she doesn't know about your little trick? Please say I can be there when you show her!"

Zoya quirked an eyebrow in Anders' direction, but he only shrugged. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "As entertaining as it is sitting here with the two of you while trying to ignore the moaning in the next room, and - oh wait… is that squealing? Andraste's flaming ass – what are they _doing_ in there?" Zoya's eyes shifted nervously to the adjoining wall as she took a long swig from the bottle. "Maybe we need to do what we came here to do before there's something I can't ignore hearing?"

"Wait… what are you hearing? I don't hear anything." Isabela leapt from Anders' lap and pressed her ear against the wall. "Balls! I still can't hear anything! I do envy those ears of yours." Isabela shook her head sadly as she leaned against the wall. "So Anders' pack… Sanga probably has it locked in her office."

"What makes you think it's in the office instead of in a storage room somewhere?" Zoya leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

Isabela twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers. "Let's just say I've spent a bit of time visiting with Sanga in the privacy of her office. The trunk is where she keeps things that might be valuable but she doesn't want to put on display."

"Where is the office? What kinds of obstacles are between here and there? What kind of lock is on the door?" Zoya's attention was fully focused on Isabela as she tried to gather the details she'd need for a successful effort.

"We need to get past a half dozen private rooms on the way to Sanga's office. The guards don't usually venture back there unless they hear trouble, so if we're quiet they won't be a concern. The door to the office is locked, as is the trunk, but they're pretty simple locks so I doubt that'll be a problem." Isabela paused for a moment as she paced. "So here's the plan... you and Anders need to get in a tussle loud enough to attract the guards. As they're dealing with the two of you, I'll slip over to the office, break in, and steal the pack. Then we can meet back at my ship..."

Zoya halted Isabela with a wave of her hand. "I appreciate the information, Isabela, but it's probably better not to drag you into this more than we already have. I can get the pack myself." Zoya stood, running a hand through her hair as she stretched. She approached Isabela and handed off the bottle before twisting her hair into a knot at the back of her neck.

Isabela's gaze was skeptical. "And how do you plan on getting into and out of the office without being noticed? No offense, kitten, but you don't strike me as the master burglar type."

"So my cunning 'innocent elf' disguise worked, did it?" A wry grin crept over Zoya's face. "A wager then – if I can do this thing, then you'll give me that bodice dagger." Zoya nodded at the ornate hilt peeking up from Isabela's cleavage.

Isabela laughed and fingered the golden filigree on the dagger's hilt. "Such a saucy request from such a sweet thing. This dagger was a gift from the staggeringly handsome elf who was kind enough to assassinate my husband. I hate to part with it... but then I doubt I'll have to." The pirate's lips curved upward in an amused smile. "Alright, we have an accord."

Giving Isabela a wink as they clasped hands to seal the deal, Zoya moved on quiet feet toward the door; she gave Anders a quick kiss on the cheek before shouldering her pack. "I'll be back before you know it. Just keep the door open."

The usual thrill passed through her as the Veil parted and she stepped through, into that place between the two worlds where she was mostly invisible to the denizens of either side. She paused to let her eyes adjust to her rippling surroundings and to scan for the presence of other mages or demons in the area. Demons in particular would be drawn to her presence in this place, but as long as she didn't attempt to step through the Veil or linger too long she knew she'd be relatively safe.

Isabela's jaw dropped open and the bottle slipped from her hand, landing upright on the polished wooden floor planks with a thud as Zoya suddenly disappeared from sight. She laughed heartily as she retrieved the bottle and took a long pull. "Oh, I like this elf of yours, mage."

~oOo~

Zoya moved quickly past the private rooms, instinctively holding her breath as she passed the guards, and turned a corner to continue down the empty hallway past several other closed doors. There was always a small part of her that worried she wasn't as well cloaked as she thought she was. Reaching the office at the far end of the corridor, she peered at the door's lock. It was just a simple spring latch - she'd been able to pick those since she was as tall as the doorknob. Retrieving her favorite lockpick from the hidden compartment in her belt, she scanned the area to make sure she was still alone before dropping out of stealth. One unfortunate disadvantage to the stealth spell was that she couldn't manipulate objects in either realm unless they were directly associated with her when she slipped through the Veil. She'd be momentarily visible as she picked the lock to gain entrance to the office.

She pressed an ear against the door to ensure the room was empty before springing the latch, stepping through into the office and closing the door softly behind her. This room was larger than the others - more of an apartment with its bath and basin, table and chairs, desk, and bed. Similar to the rest of the furnishings in the brothel, everything was simple and well-constructed; the linens were new, and fresh flowers filled vases on several of the flat surfaces. Luckily, there was just a single locked trunk; the padlock may have been ornate but the locking mechanism wasn't complex. Given the simplicity of the locks she'd encountered in this place, it was likely that Sanga wasn't accustomed to being burglarized.

Only a couple of packs were stashed in the large trunk. It was obvious which one belonged to Anders as it was full of herbs and potions and held a spare mage's robe. Zoya took a moment to explore Anders' pack, feeling a bit guilty as she did it but unable to resist this candid look into her companion's life. In addition to the herbs, potions, and spare clothing, there were a dozen or more scrolls filled with text and sketches, a small, braided leather animal collar with a tiny brass bell, and a beautifully embroidered pillow. Captivated by her find, she traced delicate fingers over the careful stitching depicting tabby kittens playing among colorful blossoms. Raising the pillow to her face, she rested her cheek against the soft fabric and breathed in deeply – it smelled like him.

To keep Sanga from discovering the theft right away, Zoya emptied Anders' pack and stuffed it with the simple garments they'd been wearing earlier. She returned his pack to the trunk just as she'd found it, before tucking his belongings into her own bag. She hoped it was the pack's contents and not the pack itself that Anders wanted so badly.

Zoya listened at the door, making sure the hallway was clear before stepping through the threshold, softly pulling the door shut behind her and reactivating the stealth spell. She chastised herself for the momentary disappointment she felt at the ease of this task; she should be careful or she might get her wish for a challenge. She chuckled, amused that Isabela doubted her ability to pull it off.

She made it back into the room unnoticed; Anders was still seated on the end of the bed, the tension obvious in his posture as his gaze shifted between the door and Isabela pacing the room. Zoya slid through the threshold, running hurried hands over her garments and through her hair before assuming a casual pose against a bedpost and dropping out of stealth. Isabela's eyes grew wide and she let out a delighted laugh when she saw Zoya suddenly reappear.

Zoya handed the pack to Anders. "I know it's not your pack but everything that was in yours is in this one."

Anders sifted through the contents and gave Zoya a grateful smile. "Thank you, love. You've no idea how much it means to me to have these things back. Is this a new robe?" She could see the relief on his face as reverent fingers lingered on the pillow tucked into the folded garment. He rose from the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Zoya's pulse skipped a beat, its tempo increasing as she let herself linger in his arms; the soft leather of his jerkin caressed her cheek as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. Reluctantly pushing away from him, she ducked her head to avoid either of them seeing her blush. She cleared her throat before speaking in nonchalant tones. "No problem. I figured if you had a robe again, I wouldn't have to hear you complain about it anymore."

Isabela sauntered over, close enough for Zoya to smell the mingled scents of perfume and rum, and gave her a sly grin. "So I guess I won our wager – you didn't come back with the mage's pack after all."

"Wait… what? But I returned with everything that was in his pack!" Zoya gave her an indignant look.

Anders took a step closer to Isabela, his brow furrowed in annoyance and his voice stern. "You lost the wager, Isabela. Pay your debt."

Isabela raised an eyebrow at him. "And _now_ the mage gets bossy. Will wonders never cease?" She stepped in closer to Zoya as she drew the sheathed dagger from her cleavage, gently pressing her lips to the hilt before deftly tucking it into Zoya's bodice. Her eyes and fingers lingered on the pale skin of Zoya's neckline. "You may want to keep that dagger someplace a bit more secure – I don't think the smith had elven breasts in mind when he crafted it." Taking a reluctant step back, she sighed as she shifted her gaze to Zoya's face. "But I suppose we should get back down to business - let's talk about the conditions of our future relationship."

Zoya avoided meeting Isabela's gaze, knowing the blush had spread past her cheeks. "Fine – I'm all ears…"

Isabela chuckled, "She's so cute! Really Anders, I don't know how you resist her." Isabela gestured for Anders and Zoya to take a seat on the edge of the bed as she perched on the nearby stool. "After seeing your little disappearing act, I think you'd be perfect for a job I just accepted. See, a friend of mine recently found out about a stash of valuable artifacts here in Denerim. It seems he has a business partner that's willing to pay a lot of coin to get his hands on them. I was just going to hire local help, but you have skills that make you uniquely qualified for the position. And I'm willing to split the profit with you – I'll give you a quarter."

Zoya folded her arms, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar feeling of carrying a dagger against her chest. The leather sheath was still warm from its previous owner. "Let me guess – this is more than just a simple burglary?"

Isabela rose to her feet and started to pace the room. "Oh, I think it'll be pretty simple. My sources tell me there's no dedicated guard at the site. The rub is where it's located." She stopped pacing, cocking a hip and crossing her arms as she stood looking down at them. "The stash is locked in a room under the Chantry."

Anders leapt to his feet. "Under the Chantry? Are you insane? You do realize that if we get caught, Zoya and I will get more than just a trip to the dungeon?"

Zoya regarded Isabela with thoughtful eyes, a finger tapping her lower lip. "I assume you have a plan? I'd be more willing to listen if I knew Anders and I were each getting a third of the profit."

The two humans gave her incredulous looks. Anders sank back down to the bed while Isabela shook her head and resumed pacing. "Final offer – fifty-fifty. You two can split your half however you like." She smiled at Zoya's tentative nod. "As far as a plan… I'm guessing you're looking for something more than you sneak us in, we steal the stash, and we become filthy rich?"

~oOo~

The sun was coming up over the horizon as Zoya and Anders sat side by side on the perch at the dock. "What do you really think of Isabela's plan? Can we really pull this off? I mean, two apostates and a pirate wandering the bowels of the Chantry – the more I think about it, the more it seems like a huge risk for marginal reward." Zoya tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she turned to him with a wide smile. "Or maybe the start of a really bad joke..."

"Oh sure, now you start to consider the risk." Anders gave her a wry grin. "It took some time, but I think we've come up with a solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?"

"If Soris were here, he'd tell us that you just doomed us to failure. And then he'd tell us we're out of our minds and try to talk us out of doing this." Zoya chuckled.

Anders laughed and shook his head. "He'd have a valid point."

Zoya's eyes shifted to focus on her hands folded in her lap. "So, what do you think about what Isabela said? About leaving on her ship when we're done with this job?"

He looked out toward Isabela's ship, _The Siren's Call, _deep in thought. "I guess I hadn't given much thought to leaving. But I suppose it's inevitable. Traveling as part of Isabela's crew might not be a bad option. What about you?"

Zoya followed his gaze, feeling a soft breeze on her cheeks. If ever there was a time to tell him about her father's plans for her, this would be it, but the words felt heavy in her gut. "I don't know. There are things... well, I'm realizing that it's time to leave home. Travelling with Isabela seems as good an option as any, I guess." She knew that what she really wanted was to suggest they leave Denerim together, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. "So… during all of your daring escapes from the Circle, did you ever consider your responsibility to the other mages there? Now that you're free, maybe you could help others to become free too?"

Anders frowned at her, sighing heavily as he crossed his arms. "Is that bit of self-righteousness directed at me? _You're_ free – what are _you _doing to help mages? Maybe I should just mind my own business; not give the Templars a reason to continue to hunt me. It's not like I'm really free. The Templars still have my phylactery, and as long as they have it, they can find me and take me back to the Circle."

Zoya bit the inside of her cheek, regretting her choice of words. "Oh… I didn't mean it like that! I only meant that perhaps helping other mages in Ferelden would be a worthy task, a purpose. Besides, I helped you, didn't I? I would offer assistance to any mage who needed it."

Anders' eyes were sad as he frowned and shook his head. "Oh, my dear Zoya... so naive, so idealistic. They all _need _it. You can't save them all."

Zoya's eyes flashed fiercely. "That may be true, but I'm not going to let that stop me. I've seen what the Templars are capable of - I _have _to try and help as many as I can. Speaking of Templars, do you think they'll continue to look for you? They left you for dead – I would imagine they think their business with you is done."

Anders shrugged. "My phylactery will still be functioning and that will tip them off that I'm still alive. Eventually they'll come looking for me again, find me, and drag me back to the Circle."

Zoya raised an eyebrow, surprised by his casual tone. "Assuming they don't just kill you on sight, of course." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and hopeful. "Is there any way we can find your phylactery and destroy it? Then you'd be free. I'd be happy to help you."

Anders regarded her with grim eyes. "As long as there are Templars and the Chantry, I'll never really be free. Phylactery or no, I'm still a mage. As are you, love." Anders shrugged again, showing practiced indifference to such troubling circumstances. The silence stretched between them as Zoya struggled with the truth of his words. He watched her with concern; a brighter look came to his face a moment later. "Going back to our early discussion of risks and rewards… I seem to recall offering something to you in return for getting me back my pack. Are you still interested in finding out what all the fuss is about?"

The tone of his voice and look in his eyes made her mouth go dry, her stomach flip-flop and her hands tremble. She opened her mouth to reply, but settled on a small nod instead, ducking her head to avoid meeting his gaze.

He shifted onto his knees, his voice low when he spoke. "This will work best if you kneel across from me." He nodded as she repositioned herself to face him. "You may be surprised by what you feel, but don't pull away. Neither of us will be happy if you do. I have to keep a physical connection between us or the results will be... well, shocking." He chuckled before offering her a wink. "Ready?"

Zoya chewed her lower lip as she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. Her voice refused to cooperate, so she nodded again in reply. She fought the urge to flinch away when he reached out, gently lifting her chin so her gaze met his. Anders' expressive mahogany eyes lured Zoya into their depths, encouraging her to forget everything but him.

Elegant fingers wrapped around hers, giving a reassuring squeeze before the magic started to flow through him. The spell caressed her where their skin met, feeling akin to healing energy, only this was more primal, like lightning or an arcane bolt - but far more gentle. Anders' other hand lingered on hers and she realized what he was doing as the magic drifted through her. This electricity trick was similar to how she used her healing gifts, using the body as a conduit for the magic as the hands offered focus and direction. Only instead of the warmth associated with healing, there was a tingling as the electric current traveled through her, following his hand as it glided over her. She gasped as her body responded in kind, her own magic streaming through her, resonating with his. He took a shuddering breath as she placed a hand on his chest and her energy poured into him.

The separate energies twined through them, harmoniously combining as they grew in power. Oh, how she wanted to surrender herself to it, revel in it, test it to see what it could do. Every nerve in her body sang, adding depth to the melody. She could see it in the surprised intensity of Anders' eyes - he was feeling it too. They swayed to their magics' song, riding the ebb and swell of the phrasing until it reached its inevitable crescendo, swelling to a point of no return. A nervous thought crept through her mind - soon they might not be _able_ to stop. Would they even care when it consumed them? With an effort of extreme will, she broke eye contact, closed her eyes, and staunched the current; she could feel Anders doing the same.

The silence stretched between them as they each fought to regain their composure. Anders let out a quavering sigh, "Maker's breath… That was… well… unexpected."

Zoya took a faltering breath, trembling fingers threading through her hair. She frowned as she fought to get her heartbeat back under control. "What was that? It felt like I had boundless energy at my disposal. Have you ever had this happen before?" Even now, goosebumps rose on her skin at the remembered sensation of the energy moving through and over her.

"I have no idea what that was - it's never happened before..." Anders seemed dazed as he slowly shook his head.

"I bet you say that to all the girls..." She leaned back against the stone wall, the pounding in her head keeping time with her pulse.

They both retreated into their own thoughts. After some time, Zoya could feel him studying her as he moved to sit closer to her, but she kept her eyes closed. He cleared his throat to get her attention; his tone was light when he finally spoke. "I just wanted to tell you that I think you're alright. You've been a really good friend. When the Templars came for me, you could have decided that I wasn't worth the trouble. But apparently you decided at some point that I was. And I know that I've been _a lot_ of trouble. I just wanted to tell you that I'm grateful for everything you've done. And - if you don't mind me saying - I think you're remarkably lovely." The light touch of Anders' hand on hers seared her skin, almost as if the electricity continued to flow between them. He grinned at her warmly, his hand lingering.

She regarded him quietly, her brow furrowing as she tried to figure out where he was going with this. She opted to continue his light tone as she spoke, even as her heart pounded in her chest. Lovely, he thought she was _lovely_. "I won't argue with you on that - you really _are_ a lot of trouble. Truly - a real pain in the ass. It's a good thing you're so charming or I'd have handed you over to the Chantry a long time ago." Zoya winked at him as she pushed against him with her shoulder and turned her hand over so she could twine her fingers with his.

"And handsome. Don't forget handsome." He offered her his most winning grin.

Zoya made a show of looking him over slowly. "I don't know about that. You're just a human, and a scruffy one at that." She reached up, hesitating for a second before stroking his cheek. His fond grin emboldened her to continue. "And don't even get me started on these little ears of yours." She ran a finger gently over the outer edge of his ear.

Anders pulled back from her, a mock frown on his face and a hand clutched over his heart. "Ouch. You've wounded me deeply." He growled as he swooped forward, his arms closing around her and pulling her tight to him. Zoya giggled as she tried to push him away, pressing her hands against his chest. Anders nuzzled her smooth cheek with his stubbled one, laughing at her half-hearted escape attempts. They settled into each other, the quiet intimacy of their embrace as natural as breathing.

Zoya longed to bask in the warm, golden light of sunrise, wrapped snuggly in Anders arms. But with the sun came the bustle of activity associated with an active port. She attempted to rouse herself to action, trying to form the words to suggest they head back when she felt the soft brushing of Anders' lips against her neck. Her heart leapt as she took a surprised breath, momentarily stilled by the mage's tender attention. But then her thoughts began to race - what to do with her hands? React, or... She was frozen - painfully aware that she was completely out of her element, unsure of herself, slightly terrified, but at the same time strangely euphoric. The sensation wasn't unlike the first time she got drunk - she swallowed hard, hopeful that this didn't come to a similarly unpleasant conclusion. She doubted Anders would appreciate that.

His mouth trailed the length of her neck, grazing her jawline, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her skin. Zoya swallowed, goosebumps rising when Anders tipped her chin so their eyes would meet. His brandy eyes, burning with intensity, captured hers as a soft smile touched his lips. "When I was in the Circle, we played at love. For most of us, it was just a game. It gave the Templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose." The pad of his thumb traced her skin, his gaze falling to her mouth as his thumb lingered there. "I don't know if you knew this, but mages in the Circle aren't allowed to marry, and if you have a child, well… he belongs to the Chantry and is taken from you. Circle mages often learn the hard way not to form attachments."

"How awful - I can't even imagine," Zoya whispered. In the Alienage, attachments were sometimes all you had.

"You get used to it, unfortunately," Anders continued, a sort of dark humor in his quiet voice. "I never thought that I could dare to fall in love. I'm still not sure I can or even should. But...Zoya, being here with you, I find myself wanting to try."

The world fell out from beneath her as Anders closed the final distance between them. Their lips melted together, the electricity of his touch like liquid fire flooding her veins. Anders urged her mouth open, his tongue seeking gentle entrance, dancing against hers as his fingers tangled in her hair. As the kiss deepened, Zoya let go, losing herself to the cleverness of Anders' mouth.

The sounds of the docks coming to life in the early morning sun brought them back to their surroundings. Anders reluctantly pulled away, his fingers tenderly stroking her cheek as hungry eyes lingered on her lips. Zoya regarded him with lidded eyes, suddenly aware that she'd been holding her breath; it escaped her as a trembling sigh. A memory of the last time they'd been together in this place flashed before her eyes - the chill of his lips on hers when she breathed life back into him. A shiver ran down her spine. "That was so much better with you warm and breathing..."

Anders quirked an eyebrow, his expression puzzled for a moment before he started to laugh. "It was better for me, too..."


	8. Chapter 8

The surly, well-armed guard stood to one side of the Alienage gate, scowling at the steady stream of elves moving through the opening. Duncan stood just outside the sturdy timber barrier, ignoring the guard's glares as he fingered the fading blooms woven around and between the timbers. Adaia used to sneak into the nobles' private gardens, and even into the Chantry on a couple of occasions, to steal blossoms to attach to the gate. These floral crimes were her way of bringing beauty to the Alienage's entry, a subtle statement right there on the most obvious symbol of the elves' imprisonment. Duncan hadn't passed through the Alienage gate since Adaia's death, but every year on the anniversary of his first meeting with Adaia, he'd come to this spot to add a single rose to the other flowers woven into the gate. He liked to think it was Zoya who continued to weave pilfered blooms into the barrier.

As frequently happened in quiet moments such as these, his thoughts turned to the young elf. When he'd seen her in the marketplace, she seemed reasonably happy. A smile tugged his lips as he recalled the young elf, like her mother in miniature; her face was uncharacteristically fierce as they sparred, determined to disarm him despite the difference in size and experience. The joyful memories fled at the shameful cowardice he felt for abandoning her, threatening to turn him from the gate yet again. But time was no longer on his side – if he was going to retrieve the girl, it needed to happen now. Taking a deep breath, he strode into the Alienage, tersely nodding to the guard as he entered.

Elven eyes, both hostile and curious, locked on him as he traveled the worn cobbles. He was surprised by how little had changed since he was here last. The place was still a tinderbox; dilapidated buildings that looked like a strong wind would knock them over. As bad as the conditions in the Denerim Alienage were, he'd seen far worse places. At least here there was a sense of community - people looked out for each other and made an effort to keep their homes safe and their surroundings clean. It was a far cry from the Val Royeaux Alienage where multiple families often shared a single-room hovel and the dead were frequently left forgotten in the gutters. The Alienage was bustling with activity, some elves focused on routine tasks while small groups congregated around the vhenedhal, chatting excitedly under the large tree that stood as a silent guardian at the center of the Alienage.

It wasn't long before he reached his destination, the home of his old friend Valendrian. Duncan hesitated on the doorstep, his hand poised to knock on the door, suddenly struck by the rapid passage of time. Had it really been twenty years since he first came to Denerim and the Wardens were allowed to return to Ferelden? It was hard to imagine so much had happened since he'd first stood nervously before this very door, hoping to be reunited with a certain fiery elf.

_Duncan took a deep breath, building his courage to knock on the Elder's door. He'd been unable to chase Adaia from his mind after their afternoon together in the Circle Tower. Despite how little time he'd actually spent with her, she'd haunted him even in the Deep Roads, the memory somehow giving him reason to persevere through even the most hopeless moments. He'd even wondered if he was under the influence of blood magic, but his cohort Fiona assured him he was under no extraordinary influence. The elven mage had been amused by the young rogue's infatuation with Adaia, encouraging him to seek her out as a recruit – Fiona understood better than anyone the pain of being an elf and an apostate on their own in this world._

_Now that he was finally in a position to grant Adaia's wish to become a Warden, he intended to do just that - assuming that she'd made it to Denerim, of course. Just before the Commander dragged him flushed and half naked out of the elf's room, Adaia had told him that she planned to escape the Circle and seek shelter with a relative in the Denerim Alienage. At the time, he wondered how she planned to escape. It wasn't until the Deep Roads that he discovered his favorite lockpick was missing from its hidden compartment in his belt. Not since his time on the streets of Val Royeaux had he encountered a mage with fingers nimble enough to pick his pocket. But then Adaia was far prettier, and had far more entertaining ways to distract him, than his old friend Luc._

_The Elder seemed surprised when Duncan asked after Adaia by name, and even more so that she'd expressed interest in becoming a Warden. At Duncan's stubborn insistence, Valendrian set off to retrieve the young woman. Duncan's heart leapt in his chest when he saw her – she was lovelier than he remembered. Her cheeks flushed prettily as she beamed up at him, delicate fingers moving up to coquettishly twirl a red tendril of hair around delicate fingers. The thrill of realizing that she was just as happy to see him was quickly dashed. The Elder rejected Duncan's overtures, arguing that there was no need to recruit Adaia since there was no Blight and she'd recently married into the community._

_As the Elder spoke and the reality of the situation set in, Adaia's smile became tense, her eyes shifting to the floor and refusing to meet his gaze. Not knowing what else to do, Duncan sadly acquiesced to the Elder's wishes, promising that he wouldn't invoke the Right of Conscription. As Adaia moved to exit the Elder's home, she paused before Duncan, offering him a subtle wink and sad smile, a glimmer of hope returning to her green eyes as she took his hand._

_Duncan struggled against the need to follow Adaia, knowing duty required he stay to discuss other possible recruits with the Elder. He left the Elder's home after a torturous hour had passed, pausing below the vhenedhal to read the note Adaia had pressed into his hand. Swallowing hard, his eyes lingered on her flowing script, "My dearest Duncan, I would very much like to return what I took from you. I will be at the docks at sunset should you desire to continue our conversation from the Circle."_

His thoughts were interrupted as the door flew open and a young, red-haired elf nearly knocked him over in her haste to leave the Elder's home. Her face paled as she looked up at Duncan, recognition registering in her widening eyes - she quickly ducked her head, mumbled an apology and hurried off.

Valendrian strode forward and clasped forearms with Duncan in greeting. The Elder's wide smile removed some of the anxiety Duncan was feeling. "It's so good to see you old friend. It's been far too long since your last visit." Valendrian motioned for him to enter and have a seat at the table as he retrieved a bottle of ale and two mugs.

Duncan settled into a worn chair and let his eyes sweep the room - still the same time-worn furniture and jumble of books and other odds and ends. The only real change was how much Valendrian had aged since the last time the two men had seen each other; his responsibilities had apparently taken their toll. "It's good to see you too, Valendrian. That young elf that nearly ran me over - was that Adaia's niece, Shianni?"

"Yes, it was. I apologize for her rudeness. She has a lot on her mind – she's preparing for a wedding, well two weddings actually." Valendrian leaned back in his chair.

Duncan raised an eyebrow at this news, "She's a bit young to be married if I recall?"

Valendrian folded his hands on the table. "You're correct. She's taken over wedding preparations for her brother, Soris, and Zoya."

Duncan nearly choked on his ale. "Zoya? When?"

"Cyrion found an excellent match for her in Highever. He and Soris' bride arrived earlier today, and the wedding is tomorrow. I'm sure Zoya would be pleased if you could attend the ceremony. Within the week, they'll travel to Highever to live with his family." Valendrian eyed Duncan warily. "What brings you to the Alienage after all this time, Duncan?"

Duncan swallowed hard and took a breath to regain his composure. Well, at least this time he'd arrived _before _the wedding. Knowing his old friend wasn't one for mincing words, he jumped right to the heart of the matter. "The worst has happened – a Blight has begun. King Cailan has summoned the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his army. As you know, our numbers here in Ferelden are small, so I'm here recruiting."

Valendrian frowned at Duncan, "So I've heard. But if you've come to the Alienage looking for recruits, you'll be leaving empty handed - I've no viable candidates to offer. Many of our able-bodied youth have already departed for Ostagar to work as laborers - not that any of them were warriors in any sense of the word."

Duncan cleared his throat, "Yes, I'd imagine. Actually, I've got a particular recruit in mind…"

The door burst open as Cyrion stormed into Valendrian's home. His voice shook with rage as he spoke, "Is it true the Warden is here?" His glare settled on Duncan as he rose from the chair; Cyrion closed the distance between them, his fists clenched as stalked over. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, shem! What business could you possibly have in the Alienage?"

Valendrian rose from his chair, positioning himself between the two men and placing a calming hand on the angry elf's shoulder. "Cyrion, Duncan is a guest in my home."

Duncan stood his ground, keeping his voice calm, "As I was telling the Elder, I'm recruiting Wardens to fight the Blight. I've come to the Alienage to collect my last recruit before returning to Ostagar."

Cyrion's face flushed, a vein throbbing in his forehead. "I know who you're after, shem. You can't seriously think I would let you take my Zoya? Isn't it enough you took Adaia from me?" The elf crossed his arms, his expression smug. "Besides, you're too late - I've already arranged for my daughter to go to Highever, she'll be married into a good family. You may as well leave - I won't agree to her being recruited."

Duncan bristled, wanting nothing more than to throttle this man - Maker knew it had been a long time coming. He forced his next words through clenched teeth. "I wasn't the one who took Adaia – it was the Templars. How long before they come for Zoya again?"

Cyrion continued to scowl at Duncan. "You're still convinced Adaia's death wasn't your fault? If you'd left her be, she'd have settled into being a wife and a mother, let her magic and swordplay drift into memory. That's my hope for Zoya – she'll have a chance for a fresh start. But you expect me to let my little girl, my only child, go with you to fight the Blight? Can you promise me she won't be harmed as she fights her way through darkspawn and Maker knows what else? Because that's the only way I'll consent to her leaving with you."

"You're a fool if you think Zoya can just set aside her gifts, Cyrion." Duncan took a calming breath as he forced himself to unclench his fists. "Did the family of her betrothed promise her safety? Are you certain they won't hand her over to the Templars once they discover she's gifted with magic? Adaia never came to harm with me - it was here in Denerim with you that she met her end." Duncan watched Cyrion pale at this statement. When he spoke again, his tone was gentler. "We've always known that Zoya is meant for great things. Her talents would be of great benefit to the Wardens – they're wasted here in the Alienage where she has to keep them hidden. Let her come with me – if she joins the Wardens, the Templars will no longer have any hold over her."

Cyrion looked to the Elder for support. Finding none, he turned toward the hearth, stubbornly shaking his head. "She'll be safe in Highever with her Nelaros' family. This is what's best for her, what needs to be done."

"If we don't stop this Blight, Zoya won't be safe anywhere. Have you asked her what _she _wants to do, Cyrion?" The guilt written on Cyrion's face provided Duncan the answer he was seeking. "I don't believe it's entirely your decision. If Zoya is old enough to marry, then she's old enough to decide her own path. If she truly wants to marry, I'll accept her decision. Can you say the same should she choose differently?"

~oOo~

Zoya awoke, painfully aware of the lumps in her mattress. Who would have thought that sleeping on a bed roll in the tunnels would be more comfortable than sleeping in her bed at home? Her whole body felt as if it had been pummeled with a war hammer and her head pounded wickedly. She dragged her hand up to rub at her eyes before she risked cracking them open. So she'd gone home last night after her bender instead of going back to the tunnels after all. She sighed heavily, realizing that was probably because Shianni wanted to keep her away from Anders - she never should have told her cousin that she'd kissed the human. Her heart fluttered at the memory of that kiss.

The bunk above her appeared to be empty; Shianni must be up already. How had this all happened so fast? She'd returned to the Alienage last night to spend time with her family and collect her things. It was her intention to leave Denerim after the heist tonight, hopefully a good deal richer and with Anders by her side. But the news upon arrival to her home was that her betrothed was arriving early and the wedding date had been moved up. Zoya groaned and curled into a ball, pulling her blanket up over her head.

"Time to get up, sleepy head." Shianni's sing-song tone made her head pound. Zoya growled a string of obscenities under her breath and pulled the blanket tighter around her, but Shianni wrestled it away, grunting in frustration. "Hurry up, Zoya! Today's a big day and we've got a lot to do. Soris arranged for you both to meet with your betrothed before the welcome dinner tonight - I'm not sure how he pulled that off…"

Soris chuckled as he entered the room. "I'll never tell. Is she still in bed? We've got less than an hour before we meet up with Nelaros and Valora, and then there's the dinner tonight - so much for enjoying our last day of independence, eh cousin?"

Zoya threw an impressive scowl at her cousins, openly annoyed that Soris was just as cheerful about all this as Shianni. "Oh please… you don't need to remind me. How can you both be so perky this morning? You drank more than I did last night - it's just not fair." With a heavy sigh, Zoya rolled out from under her blanket and padded on bare feet to the washbasin to splash cool water on her face and rinse her mouth. Dropping into a chair at the table, Zoya wrapped her hands gratefully around a mug of hot tea – she didn't think her stomach could handle much else this morning.

There was much to do in little time, and she had more to deal with than just the wedding preparations. She wanted to return to Anders as soon as possible - he was likely worried about her, as the plan when she'd left the tunnels was for just a quick trip into the Alienage. Besides, this was the first night they'd spent apart since she'd rescued him; it felt unnatural to be away from him now. They also needed time to assemble their gear for the heist tonight, and now she needed to find a way to get away from the pre-wedding activities to meet up with Isabela at the Chantry.

Shianni reached out and covered one of Zoya's hands with her own, interrupting her cousin's thoughts. "Guess who I ran into this morning at Valendrian's?" She spoke in a casual tone, but the serious look on the girl's face and the tightness of her hand put Zoya on alert. "Duncan."

With that one name, Zoya's world came to a screeching halt. She leapt to her feet, the tea mug dropping to the floor with a clatter as she crossed the room. Tugging desperately at the door, she finally pried it loose and dashed through the opening - her only goal as she sprinted through the Alienage was to get to Valendrian's home before Duncan left.

As she barreled around a corner, she nearly ran down her father. Cyrion grasped her by the arms, his face full of concern as he steadied them both. "My dear girl, it's good to see you up and awake. But where are you off to in such a rush?" His eyes traveled over Zoya; she was still in her rumpled clothing from the night before, her feet bare and hair askew. "You're quite a sight! You wouldn't want Nelaros to see you like this, would you?"

Zoya looked anxiously past him toward the Elder's home. "I was heading to Valendrian's – is he still here?"

Her father gave her a steady look. "Who?"

"Duncan. Shianni told me he was at the Elder's." She was surprised at how small her voice sounded in her ears.

Cyrion wrapped an arm around Zoya's shoulder as he turned her back toward their home, his voice quiet but even. "No, his business here is done, so he's left the Alienage. Valendrian invited him to the wedding tomorrow, so perhaps you'll see him there. But he made it clear he was in a hurry to get back to Ostagar." Cyrion ran a hand over Zoya's hair to smooth it and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Let's get you back to the house so you can get washed up and ready to meet your betrothed."

Zoya let her father steer her back to their home, barely listening to his words as he continued to speak. Duncan had been here, and he hadn't sought her out. But then who could blame him – she'd been horrible to him the last time he was in the Alienage. She wished she could see him before she left Denerim.

~oOo~

Zoya knew she should have sought out Anders as soon as she returned to the tunnels, and there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. But it had been a difficult day, and her need to escape into herself won out. Or maybe it was guilt – she'd spent much of the day in the company of her betrothed, the whole time wishing it was Anders picnicking with her in the warm sunshine. As much as she hated to admit it, Cyrion had done a good job selecting her match. Nelaros was everything she could want in a husband - handsome, athletic, attentive, intelligent and kind-hearted - if she'd wanted one that is. They'd spoken at length about his family in Highever before the topic shifted to blades and his work in the smithy. Despite her father's wishes, she shared her love of swordplay with Nelaros - he didn't seem at all bothered by her knowledge of weaponry, perhaps he was even intrigued. She'd wanted Nelaros to be a villain of sorts, to justify her running, but he wasn't. He seemed to be a good person and that only made her feel worse, although not bad enough to consider actually going through with the wedding.

At the sound of Anders' footsteps in the tunnel outside the training room, Zoya renewed her focus in packing gear for their forthcoming adventure into the bowels of the Chantry, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest that plagued her every time he was near.

"Welcome back, gorgeous. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me." Anders smiled widely at her before whistling in appreciation. Zoya couldn't hold back a girlish giggle as he took her hand, lifting it over her head to twirl her before pulling her toward him. His free hand pressed into the small of her back, gathering her tight against him as he dipped her back, buried his face in the hollow of her neck and breathed in deeply. "Mmmm… someone's had a bath." He pulled away enough to look in her eyes, his eyebrow raised, "Wait… a bath, pretty dress, and flowers woven in your hair… can't be for my benefit or you'd have come looking for me when you got back. What's the story, love?"

Zoya sighed deeply, reluctantly freeing herself from Anders' arms. If she was going to tell him the truth, now was the time. She strode across the room and knelt before the large trunk that held various pieces of her mother's training armor, digging through it to retrieve Adaia's old fighting leathers. Anders settled against the edge of the work table, waiting expectantly for her to speak, but Zoya kept her eyes turned toward the trunk. She pressed her face into her hands, fighting back the tears burning behind her eyes; her voice cracked as the words finally tumbled from her. "I'm not even sure where to start – it's all such a mess. I guess a part of me hoped that if I never spoke about it, the whole thing would just go away. And then Isabela gave me a way to escape, but he arrived early and they moved the ceremony to tomorrow."

She froze as she heard him approach and kneel next to her, suddenly sure she didn't want him to offer her comfort, or even worse, pity. Anders wrapped his hands around her wrists, gently prying her hands from her face. "Who arrived early? What ceremony?"

Zoya ducked her head as a sob shook her. She pushed the words through a tight throat. "My betrothed. I'm to be married tomorrow."

Anders' eyes widened in surprise, reacting to her words as if he'd been slapped. Dropping her hands, he rose to his feet and backed away from her, sighing as he rubbed at his temples. His voice was little more than a whisper when he spoke. "I wish you'd told me about this sooner. Do you love him?"

"I hardly _know_ him - we only met for the first time today. I never wanted this – it was something my father planned without any input from me. I thought we'd be gone well before Nelaros arrived." She wiped angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand before wrapping her arms around herself.

His eyes searched hers, conflicting emotions playing across his face before walking back to her, reaching down to take her hand and pull her to her feet. Cupping her face, he tenderly brushed the tears from her cheek with his thumb. "Well, it seems we need to get you out of Denerim before the wedding tomorrow. So what's the plan?"

A relieved smile broke through Zoya's tears; she pressed her cheek against his palm. "I have to return to the Alienage soon for a welcome dinner. But I'll duck out before sunset – I've already told my father that I'll need to assist my employer tonight as he prepares to leave town. Then I'll return here, change into some burglary-appropriate clothes, and we can head out to meet Isabela at the Chantry. If all goes as planned, _The Siren's Call_ will leave the dock before the sun rises, and we'll be on our way to meet her friend in Amaranthine and get our share in the profits from the Chantry loot."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Anders brushed a tendril of hair back from her face before sliding his fingers along the edge of her ear and back along her jaw. Whiskey-colored eyes dropped to her lips as his fingers traced their fullness.

"Anders, maybe we shouldn't…" She took a halting step toward him as fingers memorized the lines of her face and trailed down her neck. Her voice was breathless when she spoke, "Maybe you shouldn't touch me like that…" Her eyes closed as she bit her lower lip, knowing she didn't mean it even before the words left her.

Anders took a step toward her, "Is that really what you want?" His hands drifted over her shoulders and down her arms, his fingers tangling with hers as he brought her hands to his lips. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Zoya nodded as her arms twined around Anders' neck, her whole body trembling under the searing touch of his hands. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him as he lifted her off her feet. His name escaped her as a groan as her body melded to his, "Anders, I…"

"Maker… Zoya, I don't think I can live without this…" Fire ignited in her veins as his lips brushed feather-light over her mouth. He held her firmly in his arms as he moved across the room, his lips and tongue teasing, encouraging her to open to him.

The gentle insistence of his mouth and the heat of him pressed against her fed the flames growing at her core. Suddenly emboldened, she threaded her fingers in his hair, encouraging the kiss to deepen as she parted her lips to slide her tongue along his. Focused on the feel and taste of his mouth, she was surprised to suddenly feel the hard edge of the work table against the back of her thighs. Anders pushed their gear out of the way, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her up to settle her on the table. As he stepped in close, his hands traveled up her back to tangle in her hair, tugging softly to tip her head back. Goosebumps rose on her skin as his mouth traveled down her neck to explore the pale skin along the neckline of her dress, the feel of his rough stubble contrasting with the heat of his lips and tongue as he tasted her skin.

His breathing was ragged, only fueling the pounding of her heart. She gasped as his fingers traced along her collarbone and over the curve of her breast before tugging at the ties of her bodice. Pulling away reluctantly, she trapped his face in her hands and brushed a thumb over his lips. He ducked his head, hoping to recapture her mouth, but she eluded him, locking her eyes with his. She sighed deeply, "Anders… This is all happening so fast. I don't trust myself to... I've never…"

Anders took a deep breath and closed his eyes, fighting to regain control. He rested his forehead against hers as his hands caressed her face. "Zoya, I'm so sorry. We can take all the time you need. You have to know I'd never hurt you…" He tipped her mouth to his, his lips tenderly lingering on hers for a moment before offering a lopsided grin. "You should probably head back to the Alienage or you'll be late for dinner." Soft fingers stroked her cheek before plucking a flower from her hair; she watched, breathless and trembling, as he turned and walked quietly out of the room.

~oOo~

The Chantry courtyard seemed to be empty when Zoya and Anders arrived. They skirted the stone wall surrounding the complex, staying in the shadows as they approached the well near the far end. Even in the Alienage, Zoya had heard stories that the Chantry's well was the best place to drop things you wanted to make disappear - she was hoping that she and Anders wouldn't be considered among those things.

Isabela slunk out of the shadows as they approached, her voice little more than a throaty whisper when she spoke. "I wasn't sure you were going to show. And what a waste that would've been! You wouldn't believe who and what I had to do to get this map and duty roster – I'm spent and feeling a little dirty. And believe me, that's saying something!" She shuddered as she smoothed the map out for them to look at. "We can get to the Chantry tunnels through this well – about 30 feet down is a landing. There's a crack in the rock off the landing that's large enough to squeeze through, then we follow a series of side tunnels until we get to the repository – it should be about an hour in."

Anders leaned over the well, peering down into the darkness. "Wait, we're going down there? How do we get to the landing?"

Isabela smiled, "Afraid of the dark, sparkles? Don't worry, I'll go first and tie off a line if you provide some light. Then the two of you just slide down. I'll even attach a safety line if it'll make you feel safer." She offered a wink to Zoya.

"And once we're in the tunnels – how much resistance are we going to encounter?" Zoya let her eyes wander over the pirate. She'd lost most of the gold jewelry and swapped out the white tunic for a dark one and leather breeches. Two deadly-looking daggers were visible on her back, and Zoya guessed that she had others hidden elsewhere.

"My _sources_ tell me that at this time of night, there shouldn't be any guards down there. They're only around when escorting the scholars to and from the repository. Apparently it's _creepy_ in the tunnels. Who'd have thought it?" Isabela shrugged and grinned wickedly. "Besides, that's why you're with us – to use that stealth magic of yours. With that trick, who cares if there's a hundred guards."

Zoya shook her head. "While I appreciate the confidence you have in my abilities, there _are_ limitations to what we can do while stealthed. And I've never kept myself hidden for an hour, let alone three people."

Isabela twirled a dark lock of hair around her fingers as she looked at Zoya appraisingly, "So what you're saying is we should have concerns about your stamina? Too bad, I had great hopes…"

Zoya felt a blush rise in her cheeks, "No, no worries about my stamina. I'm more concerned about how much unwanted attention we're likely to attract if we stay in stealth for that long. The problem is demons - mages that close to the Fade is like dangling a soup bone in front of a pack of mabari. Eventually one of them is going to get hungry and latch on."

Anders frowned at her. "Zoya, the Fade is nothing to play with."

"Who's playing? I know what I'm doing, Anders. We'll be fine if we stay in physical contact with each other, don't step through the Veil into the Fade, and don't run into any Templars or demons. Hmmm… l guess that is a lot of 'ifs' – we'll be fine. I've been doing this particular trick for a long time." Zoya gave him a reassuring smile. "For you both to stay stealthed, you'll need to stay in contact with me. I figure Isabela can go first – she has the map so she can guide us. I mean it Isabela – my skin has to be touching your skin at all times in there."

Isabela's eyes grew wide as she grinned. "Ooohhh… Does it have to be hands or can it be any skin?"

"I don't even want to know where you're going with that question." Zoya shook her head.

Anders quirked an eyebrow, "Heh, I wouldn't mind further discussion of this…"

Isabela fiddled with the stud below her lower lip, her face thoughtful. "So let me get this straight - your hands will be occupied by holding onto Anders and I. So what happens if you have to sneeze? Or have an itch?"

"Seriously? We're going to a place between this world and the Fade. Anders and I are likely to attract the attention of any matter of nastiness. And you're worried I might sneeze?" Zoya shook her head and raised an eyebrow as she regarded Isabela. "Alright, enough talk – let's get this done already."

Isabela pouted, "Still so bossy! Fine…" She tied the end of her rope to the windlass and wrapped a shorter length around Anders before securing it to the mainline. "Did I ever tell you about that dream I had - it involved you and a Templar and rope..." Isabela winked at the mage as she grabbed hold of the well's bucket and slid silently over the stone edge surround. Anders chuckled as he conjured a wisp, its light flickering along the stone as Zoya turned the windlass' crank and lowered the pirate into the well's depths. Isabela's voice echoed from below, "That's enough – lock the crank. I'll tug the rope when it's tied off and you can head down."

"Is it too late to change my mind about this?" Anders offered Zoya a lopsided grin. "No? A kiss for luck then, love?"

Zoya stepped toward him and checked his knots. She tugged him closer, sliding a hand upward along his chest to clasp the nape of his neck and pull him down to her, ardent lips melding into each other. A tug on the rope brought them back to their task; she sighed as their lips parted. "I suppose we better head down there."

Anders brushed a hand over her hair and kissed her forehead. He slipped over the well's surround, "See you down there, gorgeous." With a wink, he disappeared into the darkness.

Zoya peered over the edge but Anders was already hidden from view; the shimmering light of the wisp reflected off the stone sides of the well and the water far below. She smiled as the rope jerked in her hands, pleased at how quickly Anders had made it to the landing. Leaping onto the surround, she grabbed hold of the rope, wrapping her legs around it as she slid into the shadowy abyss.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N - Thank you to all who continue to read and review this story! Your support means more than I can ever express. A special thanks to Etaine M for her invaluable advice and to Eve Hawke for being my wonderful and patient beta. *hugs***_

Anders' eyes followed the ropes upward until they disappeared into the darkness of the well shaft, his heart rising into his throat. Had he really slid down those thin tendrils of woven fiber? The descent didn't seem that far on the way down. And Maker only knew how they were going to get back up to the surface – he didn't relish the thought of climbing back up the way he'd come. The waves crashing against the stone of the crevasse far below echoed the pounding in his chest. What was taking Zoya so long? He ran nervous fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to pace. It felt like hours had passed since he'd tugged on the rope to let her know he had safely joined Isabela.

The pirate kicked a pebble past Anders' feet, sending it skittering into the abyss. He shot her an annoyed glance but she only grinned impishly as she leaned against the water-smoothed stone. "So Anders… is she as much of a siren as I imagine her to be?"

Turning back to the ropes, now twitching as Zoya made her way silently along them, Anders sighed. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

A smirk settled on Isabela's lovely face, "Ahh… now I understand why you're so grumpy - you haven't bedded her yet, have you?" She chuckled as Anders' shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching against his angry retort. It was just like the lascivious pirate to enjoy getting a rise out of him. "What's the problem? You both clearly want each other. I can't imagine you depriving yourself - or is _that_ what you're into these days?"

Anders scowled at the pirate. "It's really none of your business, Isabela." It was hard to admit, but she made a valid point. Under any other circumstance, he'd have made an immediate effort to bed the elf and quickly move on to the next opportunity. He rubbed at the stubble along his jaw, avoiding Isabela's eyes as the scowl softened. "Zoya… well, she's not like the others… she's special, I guess."

Isabela's grin widened as she sauntered over to him, running a hand over his chest. "Heh, the little elf has turned you into a romantic sap." She stood on tiptoes and leaned in close until he could feel her lips grazing his ear. "My advice to you, my lovely, lustful mage… have your way with her to satisfy your curiosity and then move on."

"I never asked for your advice, Isabela – keep it to yourself," Anders growled in low tones, glowering as he stepped out of the woman's reach. Sudden awareness hit him like bolt - since he'd met Zoya, the thought of tumbling another woman hadn't crossed his mind. Even Isabela's advances hadn't captured his attention. And more surprising, her advice to bed the elf and run left his stomach churning.

Zoya touched down lightly on the landing, her eyes narrowing as they swept over her surroundings and companions. Anders took a moment to appreciate the young elf as she stood on the stone's edge in the flickering light of the wisp. Just this afternoon, she'd been a blushing elf maiden, feminine and innocent in a pretty dress with flowers woven into the crimson waves of her hair. Maker knew it had taken all of his self-control not to carry her over to the sleeping platform, slip her out of that dress and tenderly explore every inch of her. She'd been tentative in her response to his advances, and it brought forth an unaccustomed tenderness and protectiveness. But standing before him now was a different creature entirely, covered from neck to toe in worn, black leather that hugged every subtle curve of her lithe form. She was wary and dangerous, but no less feminine. This woman ignited in him a much different passion, something darker and far less gentle. Maker's breath... he was in trouble.

She crossed to him on silent feet, a subtle sway to her hips as she moved with predatory grace. Tendrils of her fiery hair emphasized the delicate contours of her face and otherworldly eyes, the woven strands hanging down her back in a thick braid that accentuated the graceful line of her neck. As she quirked an eyebrow and offered an uncertain smile in response to the intensity of his gaze, she suddenly looked less deadly, but no less alluring. "Everything alright?"

Anders swallowed hard and gave her a reassuring grin, "Just fine. Ready to get going?"

Isabela regarded them, shaking her head in amusement before silently pushing away from the stone and ducking through a large crack in the wall. He gestured for the wisp to stay with the pirate as he called light into his staff. Zoya slid past Anders to follow Isabela, but something in him broke free as he caught the lingering scent of the flowers she'd woven in her hair that afternoon. His hand darted out, fingers wrapping around her arm to stop her from following Isabela. He stepped in close, backing her against the smooth cavern wall as he let his staff clatter to the ground, its light shifting wildly. Her eyes widened as he pressed against her, gasping as he gently pinned her wrist above her head with one hand while the other traced over the lacings and buckles of her fighting leathers.

Zoya tensed for a moment, and he felt a twinge of guilt – he'd promised her that he wouldn't push. But the feeling of her lissome, leather-clad body trembling under his hands was enough to undo any self-control he might have had. Anders watched the storm of emotions pass behind her eyes, hesitation stilling her movements. Those verdant eyes closed as she loosed a quivering breath that fluttered over his skin. Heart thudding in his chest, he waited for her to resolve whatever inner conflict was giving her pause. He was taken by surprise when she suddenly arched into his touch, lidded eyes dropping to his lips, her fingers strong as they threaded into his hair and gripped the nape of his neck to pull his mouth down to hers. Rosebud lips parted, her tongue seeking out his as soon as their lips touched.

Arms and legs tangled as they folded into one another, her warmth radiating through the smooth, use-worn armor. The way they fit was magical, like the Maker had created them just for each other. He'd been truthful earlier with Isabela - Zoya was different from other women. Being near her was like being drunk, making him willing to do absolutely crazy things. Who else could convince him to rob the Chantry? When it came to Zoya, his need was insatiable - to touch her, taste her, breathe her in, and claim her as his own - it gnawed at his gut. When she was near, there was only her – everything else became inconsequential.

His hand traveled down the lacing along her side, hesitating at the soft curve of her hip as he waited for some signal that she wanted his attentions to continue. He felt a smile tug at his lips as a slender leg drifted up the outside of his own; he didn't hesitate to take that as her approval. Catching the back of her knee, he slid her leg upward to press against his hip as he pulled her tighter to him.

He reveled in her response to his touch, breathing in her shuddering sigh. When she tugged at the arm he had pinned against the stone, he reluctantly released her wrist. Perhaps he'd pushed her too far? His heart swelled as she twined her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to wrap her legs around his waist. A hoarse groan escaped his lips as strong legs fastened around him; his knees weakening as heat gathered and pulsed at his center. Anders nipped at her lower lip, fondly recalling how she would bite at it herself when she was flustered, before sucking it between his own and tugging on it gently. She responded with a quiet moan as she tightened her limbs around him.

He was so wrapped up in the bliss of Zoya's clinging form and the sweetness of her mouth, he failed to notice Isabela had returned until her throaty chuckle sounded behind them. "I may have told you to bed her, but I didn't mean here and now! You two keep that up, and I'm not going to be able to resist joining in. But I suppose we'll have all the time in the world once we're safely aboard _The Siren_." She let out an inelegant snort when neither of them responded, remaining twined around each other with their foreheads touching.

Zoya's voice was little more than a husky whisper when she breathed, "Soon…" He felt himself tumbling into deep, green depths; their eyes locked, the connection between them sparking and surging. Her sultry gaze promised future pleasures, no longer fettered by fear or uncertainty.

Isabela cleared her throat, "As much as I hate to be the one to break up such a _touching_ moment… if we're going to do this, it needs to be _now_." She spun on her heel, tossing a libidinous wink over her shoulder. "Don't make me come back here for you again... or I'll finish what you're trying to start!" She muttered under her breath as she sauntered away, "Maker's balls – you know it's a bad sign when _I'm_ the responsible one in the group."

Anders listened to the quiet fall of her footsteps as she retreated and drew a deep breath to clear his head. When he finally found the words to speak, his voice sounded rough to his ears. "I suppose we better follow - Maker help us if she decides to come back for us..." He offered what he hoped was a wry grin.

"Don't worry, love... I'll protect you from the scary pirate..." The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. She gazed at him through dark lashes, sighing as she untangled her legs from around his waist, and slowly slid down until she stood on unsteady feet. He cupped her face, leaning in for one more lingering kiss before releasing her to follow Isabela's path.

~oOo~

Isabela's swarthy complexion paled; she grimaced as she tightened her grip on Zoya's hand. "How do you focus in here? It's like being drunk but without the fun bits - everything's all shifty. I don't know where to put my feet down, and the only thing I can _feel_ is your hand – not that it's anywhere exciting." The pirate's face brightened for a moment and her lips quirked into a quick smile. "Oohh, that makes me think… Have you ever tumbled anyone in here? Because that might just be amazing!"

Zoya couldn't help but chuckle – even when she was frightened, the woman was preoccupied with carnal thoughts. Heat rose in her cheeks as the image of herself and Anders _together_ in this place flitted through her mind. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound composed, "You get used to the way things are in here… eventually." She didn't dare tell the pirate that the first half-dozen times her mother brought her into this place between worlds, she had vomited from the time they entered until the moment they exited; in comparison, Isabela was doing quite well. Zoya offered the woman a lopsided grin as she gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She kept the grin in place as she glanced over her shoulder at Anders, quirking an eyebrow. "You're being awfully quiet – you still with us?"

Anders gave her a tense nod, the muscles along his jaw clenching as his eyes darted around his surroundings. "Don't you feel it? It's getting worse."

Zoya raised her eyebrows, twitching her head in Isabela's direction to let him know they should use caution when speaking. They didn't want to frighten the pirate unnecessarily. The spirits had been converging on them since shortly after they stepped into the Between; she'd been tracking them since the first tell-tale twist in her gut. The combined power of the two mages in this place was a potent lure for the denizens of the Fade. But for now, the spirits seemed content to watch and follow; she'd been preparing to yank her companions back into the mundane world if she felt the spirits' curiosity shift to something dangerous.

Isabela's hand spasmed as white-rimmed eyes searched her surroundings. "Maker's balls! Feel what? What's getting worse?"

Zoya tightened her grip on the pirate's hand, concerned the woman would pull free. "We're fine… everything's fine." She groaned as soon as the words left her mouth – she might as well have said 'What could possibly go wrong?' It came as little surprise when her gut twisted painfully in response to the increase in malevolent spirit energy. She grimaced at Anders as she tilted her head toward the ominous shadows gathering around them, trying to keep her voice neutral when she spoke. "Ummm, Isabela… how close are we to the vault?"

Isabela's eyebrows shot up. "Close - just around the next bend. Why?"

Cold sweat prickled Zoya's skin, bile rising in her throat as her head swam. "Don't panic, but we may have a problem…."

Isabela's lush mouth set into a firm line, "What is it about someone saying 'don't panic' that makes you want to do just that? Out with it, kitten."

Zoya took a deep breath and nodded at the woman. She was trying to appear calm, but her voice sounded strained even to her ears. "We need to leave this place, the sooner the better. The Veil here is too thin – almost like it's been shredded. And with the number of spirits that have gathered, well… if they attack us in here…" Just the thought made her blood run cold. "And there's still the chance they'll follow us through into the living world."

She looked over her shoulder at Anders. His jaw clenched as he tightened his fingers around hers and gripped his staff hard enough to turn his knuckles white; Zoya felt him start to gather power. "If there's to be a fight, I'd prefer it to be out there rather than in here."

Her eyes unfocused as she sought their path back to the mundane world, pulling Anders and Isabela along after her. Relief flooded her when she felt cool, damp air against her skin and solid rock under her feet. But the small comforts of the living world were cut short as she felt an odd tugging in her chest, strangely akin to what she imagined a cork felt like as it was pulled from a bottle. She watched with curious detachment as her body twitched and collapsed at the feet of her companions before all went dark.

~oOo~

While not generally uncomfortable in the Fade, the place between the spirit and living worlds was particularly disconcerting. The milling spirits on the other side of the Veil were a constant threat while they were in that realm between. Anders wasn't sure how Zoya stayed so calm in that place; he was genuinely relieved to finally return to the world of the living.

It had taken a moment to adjust to the change in perception, to convince himself that he was in the living rather than the spirit world. Anders was caught by surprise when the small hand that had been firmly grasping his went slack and Zoya collapsed in a heap at his feet on the smooth stone floor of the tunnel. Panic gripped him, and he dropped to her side, reaching out with his healing magic to examine her. He felt a surge of relief when he found no injuries - she was breathing and her heartbeat was faint but steady. She might not be injured, but the vibrant elf was now just a vacant shell. Past experience in the Circle had taught him that the most common explanation for this emptiness was that the mage's spirit was trapped in the Fade, usually because of intervention by a demon. And when this occurred outside of the Harrowing, it was uncommon for the mage to resist becoming an abomination.

He swallowed the fear catching in his throat, feeling helpless as the reality of the situation sank in - Zoya was in the Fade. Anders smoothed loose tendrils of hair from her face, caressing her cheek as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. If she _had_ been taken by a demon, this was a fight she'd have to complete alone. His gut twisted as he imagined what she might even now be experiencing in the Fade. What would he do if she came back as an abomination? The very thought of having to fight Zoya, to kill her if she was possessed – he didn't think he could do it. Resting his forehead against hers for a moment, he sent silent prayers to the Maker to return Zoya to him unharmed before shifting to whisper in her ear. "Please come back to me, love. We've so many adventures ahead of us - I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

Isabela was nervously treading back and forth along the length of the tunnel. "What happened? Is she… alright?" She stood for a moment, fidgeting as Anders ignored her before returning to her pacing. "Shit! Don't panic... everything will be fine, she says! Why do these things always happen at the worst possible times?"

Anders disregarded Isabela's increasing agitation as he watched over the young elf, alternating between hoping and dread as he watched for any sign that she'd returned to her body. He wasn't sure what to think about the girl's affinity with the Fade. Just when he thought she wasn't particularly powerful, something would happen to make him question that assessment, like that electric moment they'd shared on the docks. The memory of her magic twining with his, encouraging it to change and grow until it threatened to consume them, sent a tingle along his spine. At that moment, he'd suspected there was more depth to her power than even _she_ realized. Maker help them if a demon controlled that potential.

Isabela's patience reached a breaking point, and her tone wasn't to be ignored when she spoke. "Anders! We need to go - now!"

Anders regarded her evenly, the stubborn set to his jaw letting Isabela know he wasn't going to back down. "I'm not leaving Zoya behind. The only reason I agreed to this was for her..." He nearly doubled over as his gut clenched, the light of his staff flickering. Andraste's flaming ass! The demons were breaching the Veil into the living world – Zoya had said that the Veil was thin here, but he'd hoped the demons wouldn't follow them into the realm of the living. He scooped Zoya into his arms, clutching her to his chest as he climbed to his feet. "Isabela, where's the vault? I need you to get us into it now!"

He followed, not daring to glance behind them, as Isabela led him down a short side passage that widened into a simple chamber before constricting back into a tunnel on the opposite side of the room. Similar to the rest of the man-made subterranean space, lanterns were spaced evenly above the barrels and crates that lined the walls. Isabela moved quickly to a plain, but heavily constructed door on one side of the chamber and knelt down to pick the lock, but Anders stopped her. His time in the Circle taught him that while the Chantry despised mages and magic, it wasn't uncommon for them to use magic when it suited them, like when safeguarding their treasures. He stood Zoya on her feet, shifting her over to Isabela to hold upright while he checked the door for any such traps – it wouldn't do to get this far only to be killed by an inferno while opening a door. Finding none, he pulled Zoya back into his arms and nodded at Isabela to continue. The elf felt strangely light, her head rolling loosely on her slender neck; he gently adjusted her in his arms so her head rested against his chest.

Isabela laughed as the door quickly swung open. "Am I good or what?" Her eyes widened as they entered the repository. A multitude of objects were heaped in chests and cluttering the many shelves and tables filling a room that appeared to have no end. The glint of gold and silver reflected a rainbow assortment of gems that ranged from small enough to be set in a ring to large enough to choke a dragon. Ancient leather-bound books and yellowing parchments were piled haphazardly on every flat surface, looking like they were likely to topple over at the slightest jostle. Heavy wooden racks bristled with utilitarian and decorative arms and armor; their enchantments enough to set the air to buzzing. A tall wooden shelf spanned a substantial portion of one wall, filled with jars of ash and bits of bone, enough to comprise a hundred prophets. Isabela nearly danced as she moved around the room, her fingers lingering on a couple of jewel encrusted baubles.

Anders let out a low whistle, "Andraste's flaming ass! How much wealth have they hoarded? I wonder if there's a place like this under every Chantry." He quirked an eyebrow at the pirate, "Why do I suspect that you have no intention of sticking to the list your employer gave you? You do realize that the most valuable things here are likely to be the least flashy?"

"Oh you know me so well!" She offered him a saucy wink, "Don't worry, sparkles… I intend to take plenty of both." Isabela loosed a throaty chuckle as she filled her pack with loot. Her face became somber as she regarded the young elf still nestled protectively in Anders arms. "So what now?"

Anders reluctantly lowered Zoya to the floor, brushing a gentle hand against her pale cheek before lighting the nearest lantern and gesturing to Isabela to follow him out through the repository's door. With a slight frown, he exerted his will and erected a barrier over the door, trapping the young elf within. "Now we fight demons as we wait for Zoya to return from the Fade."

"Ummm… wouldn't it have been better if we were on the other side of that barrier? Then we wouldn't have to fight demons at all." Isabela crossed her arms as she sulked.

Anders regarded her with haunted eyes, "That barrier probably won't stop these demons – they don't have to play by the same rules as those of us with mortal bodies. They'll just come up through the floor and then we'll be trapped in there with them. But it will briefly protect us from Zoya if she returns as an abomination." He ran his fingers through his hair, retying the leather thong binding it before drawing his staff from its sling on his back. The twisting in his gut was more urgent as the demons neared. "Are you ready to kill some demons? They'll be here any minute." He offered a half-hearted attempt at a smirk. "Watch the floor - you'll see a dark spot when they come and go. You don't want one popping up right under your feet."

"Be gentle with me, my lovely mage. It's my first time… well with demons at least…" She offered a wicked smile as she prepared for the first wave of demons, unsheathing deadly-looking twin daggers and spinning them in her capable hands. Her eyes swept the chamber, her muscles tense as she watched for the demons to appear. She shouted in surprise as they emerged through the floor of the chamber, dodging to the side as flame erupted near her feet. "Maker's balls! I thought you were kidding!"

~oOo~

The odorous night air swirled over Zoya's skin as delicate fingers carded through her hair. The waves lapping against the hulls of docked ships punctuated the song Adaia was quietly humming. Her hands continued to smooth the hair away from Zoya's face as she spoke in a light lilt, "Having a bad dream my darling girl?"

Zoya opened bleary eyes to scan her surroundings, confusion muddling her mind for a moment. Searching her memory, she saw tunnels, the surreal surroundings of the Between, hands grasping hers tightly – could it have been a dream? How did she get to the docks? Her head felt groggy, a pounding starting at her temples as she tried to remember.

A man's voice calling her name echoed in her ears; the throbbing in her head grew worse as she struggled to recognize it. As she narrowed her eyes to sweep the dock for the source of the voice, a ghostly image appeared of a human mage being chased by Templars before being run through and dumped into the murky waters. She leapt to her feet, the sudden urge to intervene overwhelming her common sense; Adaia's hand clasped her arm, anchoring her to their stone perch.

Giving her mother a questioning glance, she turned her attention back to the docks. The ghosts had faded, and no evidence of the mage or Templars remained. Out of the corner of her eye, the image of her mother wavered along with the rest of her surroundings. Zoya felt Adaia's hands, strangely cold, press lightly against her temples; she collapsed to her knees as the deeply buried memory was dragged from her mind.

_Strong, slender hands gripped her shoulders, shaking Zoya back to her senses. It felt like something had been knocked loose and was now rattling in her skull. She reached up with trembling fingers to rub her aching cheek before threading them into her hair to probe the large knot growing there, feeling the sticky warmth of her own blood. A coppery taste filled her mouth as she gently swept her tongue along her teeth, making sure everything was where it should be._

_Zoya fought to peel her eyes open as the world spun around her. As her vision cleared, she was surprised to see Adaia, who had left two days ago to meet Duncan outside the Brecilian Forest. "What happened? Why are you here, mama?"_

_Adaia's face was pensive, "Is that who you see me as? Your mother? Poor, sweet girl… do you not know where you are or how you got here?"_

_Her thoughts were hazy as she tried to remember how she'd been injured. The recollection of leering faces and rough hands came back in a rush, and her knees threatened to collapse as she remembered the human guards, their breath reeking of alcohol as they dragged her into the alley. She'd left the safety of the tunnels to return home, knowing her father would be worried if she wasn't back before supper. Zoya had been warned about wandering the Alienage alone after dark; she'd heard whisperings of young women going missing. She didn't know what these humans wanted with her, but it wasn't anything good._

_An eerie numbness settled over her as she realized her spirit was in the Fade while her body was back in the living world with those men. She returned her attention to the creature in front of her, unable to hide the panic in her voice as she spoke. "Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" Adaia had warned her about talking to spirits in the Fade. Zoya wiped trembling, sweaty hands against the coarse cloth of her simple skirt._

_"You may call me Anya. I am here to help you, my dear child - nothing more, nothing less. Your mother has not seen fit to teach you offensive magic." The spirit wearing her mother's form placed chilled hands on Zoya's shoulders. "If you are to endure this assault on your mortal body, you must not be afraid to use your magic to attack. Let rage and desire to live feed your power – they are powerful weapons."_

_Zoya fidgeted with the rough edge of her tunic's hem, unwilling to meet the spirit's eyes. "Mama says that spirits in the Fade never help without a price and to never to make deals with them." She scowled at the spirit and crossed her arms, hoping she looked braver than she felt. "I won't make any deals with you – I'd rather die than let you possess me."_

_The spirit's melodious laughter was startling in this silent place. "Is that defiance, child? So brave! If I wanted to possess you, you would not be able to prevent it." She shook her head sadly. "You misunderstand me - I ask no price. Not all spirits of the Fade seek to cause harm." Ice-cold lips pressed against Zoya's forehead, and with them, thoughts and images flooded her mind; the spirit's lessons were a nearly incoherent whirlwind in her head. "It is time for you to return to your mortal shell. If nothing else, remember this - be true to your heart and fight to survive."_

_The pain she felt in the Fade from her injuries didn't prepare her for the torment she suffered when she returned to her body. In addition to her other injuries, Zoya's eyes were so swollen she could hardly see; the weight of one armored guard kneeling on her arms and the other kneeling on her legs had turned her limbs into dead weight. The dampness of the cobbles seeped into her hair and clothing, the stench of blood, urine, and vomit filling her nose. She wondered how much of the filth was hers as she heard the guard holding down her arms speak in a gruff voice, "I think she's waking up."_

_The guard pinning her legs snarled, "Not for long." A gauntlet-covered fist crashed into her already injured cheek, slamming her head back into the cobbles below her._

_"Hey – neither of us has had our turn yet, and I'd like her alive and kicking when I finally get mine." The guard at her head sniggered._

_"I don't care what you want – I'm not letting her bite me again," the other guard growled. Zoya felt a sick satisfaction that the blood she tasted in her mouth was perhaps not just hers._

_"Hurry up, already," the guard behind her head complained. She tensed as the other grunted in response. Zoya arched her back and twisted her torso when he shifted off her legs, hoping to somehow free herself as she tried to cry out, but her voice was little more than a croak. "Aww… I think she likes you." Again, the gauntlet slammed into her cheek._

_Something inside her snapped, the terror turned quickly to rage. Her mother's voice sounded in her ear, "Do what you must to survive." She didn't bother to calm herself when she reached for her magic; she ripped open the Veil and let the power surge into her, willing it to twine with the white-hot fury already churning in her gut. Stoking the blaze into an inferno, she feared she'd explode from the pressure of containing it within her frail physical form._

_Wrath's screaming cacophony filled her mind, and she released it full force into her attackers, nearly sobbing in relief as it burst forth. Armored bodies crashed into the stone walls of the alley; they screamed in terror until the din of rattling armor ended with a sickening crunch. Blessed silence and darkness blanketed her._

_Zoya didn't know how much time passed before hurried footsteps approached where she lay in the damp filth of the alley. There was a gasp as cool fingers brushed against her neck, a distant voice hoarsely whispering her name. She tried to speak but only managed a strangled groan. Adaia's voice broke with near panic as she cried out. "Cyrion, Valendrian – I found her!"_

_Her father and Valendrian's heavier footsteps echoed in the alley. Cyrion dropped to Zoya's side, a trembling hand gently stroking her hair and his voice thick with emotion. "What kind of monster could do this? Will she be alright?"_

_Adaia's voice was strained, "I hope so – there's so much blood… please… we need to get her home..." Her voice cracked, "My baby… my poor, sweet little girl."_

_Valendrian's voice shook with fear, "What in Andraste's name happened here? What could have done this? It's like something crushed the guards inside their armor."_

_Adaia's voice was filled with wrath, "It's a far kinder fate than I would have granted them - may their spirits be flayed in the Void for an eternity."_

_Zoya gasped in pain, the darkness claiming her again as her father picked her up and cradled her in his arms. She awoke in her bed some time later to angry voices._

_A human spoke in a deep, venomous voice, "Do not lie to me - the trail of blood and magic was easy enough to follow. Someone in this house used magic to murder those guards. Confess or I arrest you all – the choice is yours."_

_"I'm to blame." Adaia's voice was so quiet Zoya could barely hear her. "I'm a mage of the Ferelden Circle – I request I be returned there for determination of my punishment."_

_Valendrian spoke up, "Please ser, those guards viciously attacked this woman's daughter. Their death was self-defense. I suspect those very guards were responsible for other recent disappearances. Adaia is a valuable part of our community and has never used her magic for harm. Many in this Alienage owe their lives to her - surely you can afford some compassion. I beg you - let her heal her daughter before you take her away."_

_Zoya cringed as clanking of heavy armor approached her bed. "Maker's breath, how is she even alive? I'll stand watch as you heal this girl. Use your magic for ill, and I'll strike you down, mage." He snarled this last word like a curse, his voice filled with fear and hatred._

_Adaia knelt on the bed, her healing magic soothing over Zoya's wounds and pushing her into slumber. Zoya licked at cracked lips, "My fault… I'm sorry…"_

_Adaia's voice shook with sadness and regret, "I'm the one who should be sorry. You only did what you must to survive. I promise I'll come back for you. I love you my darling girl." Zoya couldn't fight off sleep when it came for her._

Zoya angrily rubbed the tears from her cheeks, her hands tightening into fists as she glared up at the image of her mother. She thought she'd successfully buried the nightmarish memory, and having to relive it now threatened the fragile peace she'd made with her guilt. She found herself defaulting back to familiar coping mechanisms as she struggled to rebuild the ramshackle wall she'd erected over the last several years. Her voice dripped with sarcasm when she finally spoke. "Hello, Anya. How _wonderful_ to see you again. It's been a long time since you last dragged me into the Fade. Any reason why you felt it was necessary to trap me here and force me to reopen old wounds?"

"Why so much venom, dear one? As before, I'm here to help you. Surely that is no cause for ire." The spirit gazed at Zoya calmly.

The spirit's composure only fed Zoya's anger; she shook as she fought to maintain control, her nails digging into the palms of her clenched fists and her voice deadly quiet. "I wouldn't call what you did 'help.' If I hadn't followed your advice and used magic to kill those men, my mother might still be alive. Where was your _help_ when the Templars took her from me, when they brutalized her in front of me, when that beast bled her on the docks?" Zoya was surprised at the depth of her animosity toward the spirit.

Anya regarded her sadly, "Would you rather have died, child? That is what would have happened had I not intervened and had I encouraged you to help Adaia. She chose to sacrifice herself so that you might live. Why do you deny her gift to you?"

Zoya wrapped her arms tight around herself, "Maybe it would have been best if I had died." Try as she might, Zoya couldn't maintain her rage in the face of her mother's despair, even knowing the face it shadowed wasn't Adaia's. Zoya rubbed wearily at her temples, "So you've yanked me into the Fade to aid me again? What wonderful, invaluable counsel do you have for me this time?"

"Do not mock me child. Through my encouragement, you tapped into a potential you have barely begun to realize. You now need to find that strength again." The spirit tipped Zoya's chin up so their eyes met. "Your impetuous actions have lured demons into the realm of the living. Their presence in the physical world cannot be tolerated. You must repair the Veil to keep more from crossing over."

"And how am I supposed to repair the Veil?" Zoya attempted to pull her face free from the spirit, but Anya held her firm. It was disturbing to stare into the familiar eyes of her mother but have something else looking back at her.

"Much like your healing magic knitting flesh and bone, your affinity with the Fade will guide your magic to repair the Veil. Trust in your heart – do so and fear and doubt will no longer limit you." Anya pressed her cool forehead to Zoya's, the familiar feeling of thoughts and images flashing through her mind flooded her until quiet darkness finally descended.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N - Much love and gratitude (as always) to my beta, Eve Hawke. And special thanks to Etaine M for her back-up beta. If you're not reading either of these authors' stories, you should go do that (right after you read and review mine, of course). I adore you both more than I can ever say :D I would also like to thank (again) the folks who read, review, favorite, and follow. I can't begin to tell you how much your support means 3**_

"Andraste's flaming ass!" Zoya hissed as she dug fingers into her shoulder, rolling her head on her neck as taut joints and muscles popped. While she was stiff and sore, everything seemed to be working the way it should. She hated being pulled into the Fade against her will. Every time her spirit was returned to the living world, it was the same - she awoke in a body that bunched and pulled in all the wrong places like ill-fitting hand-me-down clothing. She struggled to her feet, her eyes sweeping over the cluttered chamber carved into the drab, beige rock. She must be in the Chantry's vault, but where were Anders and Isabela?

The sound of Anders' voice acted as her guide as she searched for her companions. Her eyes widened, flitting over the Chantry's accumulated treasures as she made her way through the repository. Just one of the overflowing chests could feed every mouth in the Alienage for years. She tucked a number of gold coins into her boots and a handful of rainbow gems into the pouch that held the potion vials at her waist. One coin would pay her debt to Alarith, and her family could live quite comfortably for the rest of their lives on just a few of the small gems.

Winding her way between the tables dripping with the Chantry's wealth, Zoya approached the vault's entrance; she could see the telltale shimmer of a magical shield covering the threshold. Reaching out with tentative fingers, she explored the barrier. It shoved back at her with an unpleasant jolt. Her companions stood on the far side of the chamber, Isabela fidgeting as the blue aura of Anders' healing magic traveled over the pirate's hands and arms.

Anders sighed in exasperation, "Damn it woman – hold still so I can heal you! What part of 'fire will burn you' do you not understand?"

Isabela pouted, "How am I supposed to fight those flamey ones if I can't get close?"

Zoya caught a whiff of soot in the air. She was too late – the demons had already breached the Veil. "Their weakness is ice spells." At the sound of Zoya's voice, Anders and Isabela's heads snapped toward the vault. Bowing her head, she grimaced as fingers glowing with her own power trailed over the barricade, gold ripples deforming the surface as its magic sparked back at her. "I'm guessing this barrier is your doing, Anders? Mind dropping it so I can help with the next wave of demons?"

Isabela grinned widely, and relief flashed across Anders' face before he forced a neutral expression. "I think it's best for everyone if I leave the barrier in place until I figure out a way to make sure you're really just you. " He swallowed hard, his face paling as he avoided meeting her eyes. "What if you're an abomination? I can't risk setting you free while demons are still coming through the Veil."

"I suppose my word that I'm not an abomination won't be enough?" Zoya felt her frustration rising as Anders shook his head, the sting of his mistrust washing over her. A cold knot of panic settled in her chest - he was _right _not to trust her. Not that he knew about her recent misadventures, but she'd been in the Fade, communing with a spirit who'd yanked her into that realm more than once. And she'd accepted help from Anya in the past – help that had resulted in the death of two men and led to the capture and killing of her mother.

Even so, she'd accepted guidance from the spirit again. How did she know_ it_ wasn't manipulating _her_? Could she be an abomination and not know it? A band of anxiety tightened around her chest as she paced in front of the barrier. The thought that she might be an abomination made her skin crawl in revulsion. But even more terrifying was what could happen if she wasn't freed to repair the Veil. Not only would the tunnels be overrun with demons, which would mean certain doom for her friends, but the demons would eventually make their way into the city and countless innocents would suffer. What if Anya was telling the truth and Zoya had been the cause of the demons breaching the Veil? She swallowed hard, trying to fight back the lump forming in her throat. "Anders, you _have_ to trust me! If we don't repair the tears in the Veil, the demons will keep coming. Please… let me help! I know how to fix it."

Isabela sauntered over to the barrier, eyeing Zoya as if the young elf was going to transform into a monster at any moment. "Hmmm… she doesn't look very demony to me. I vote you set her free. If she knows how to seal off that Veil thingy, then we should let her. Besides… we need all the help we can get."

Anders approached the barrier with caution, his eyes locked with Zoya's. "I want nothing more than to believe that you're not possessed, but …"

Zoya raised a hand to silence him, closing her eyes as she focused on the sounds echoing through the tunnels. There was no mistaking that familiar clanking of plate armor. The word hissed past clenched teeth, "Templars."

Anders paled, his grip tightening on his staff. "Templars? Here? Isabela, I thought they didn't patrol down here at night?"

Isabela smirked at Anders as she crossed her arms, "Well, we're under the Chantry in a tunnel crawling with demons as you sling around magic. Is it any real surprise the Templars decided to come and play?"

Shushing them with an impatient wave of her hand, Zoya listened to the sounds of the approaching Templars. Her mind raced, trying to come up with a plan to deal with both mage hunters and demons. Narrowed eyes scanned the chamber. "Isabela, what's in the barrels against that far wall?"

Isabela trotted over to them, pulling the lid on one to sniff the contents. "Lamp oil – why?"

Zoya exhaled quietly, running her fingers over her hair before lacing them behind her bowed head, "I can hear Templars moving in from the west, and our escape is down the tunnel to the east. We can't risk being attacked from both sides of the chamber or the Templars dispelling our magic. And they'll rip through any magical barrier we erect. So…"

Isabela grinned, "So you want me to trap the west entrance with the oil to slow down the Templars. I like it!"

"Unless you or Anders can collapse that entrance in the next couple of minutes before the Templars get here?" Zoya eyed her companions, "I could do it, but I'd probably bring the whole Chantry down on our heads if I even attempt it." She smirked at Anders, remembering the lack of control she'd exhibited during his lessons of basic spells. His chuckle told her he was probably having the same recollection. "Anders, do you remember the paralysis glyph you used on me? Do you think that would work on demons or Templars?"

Anders rubbed at the stubble along his jaw, "Hmm… I see where you're going with that." He turned to look at the tunnels joining the chamber, running both hands through his hair. "I think I can come up with something that will work. What will you be doing?"

Zoya quirked an eyebrow at him, sarcasm slipped into her voice as she folded her arms and leaned against the threshold. "Well… I thought I'd just stand and watch…" She couldn't stop the frustration from creeping into her words as he regarded her with wary eyes, "Damn it Anders, you're the one insisting I stay in here - that I'm more of a danger than a help. So I guess I'll just try to make myself _useful_ by repairing the Veil as best I can from within this room." Hot tears burned as she spun away from the doorway and moved to a clear space near the center of the vault.

She took several deep breaths to clear her mind as she knelt on the stone, not wanting to listen to Isabela and Anders on the other side of the barrier. Zoya knew she needed to focus her attention on repairing the Veil, but her mind was in the other room, listening to them shifting the oil barrels as the clank of armor drew near. She heard the Templars yell out in alarm as a vibration traveled through the rock. The whoosh of flames was followed by an ominous cracking of stone that signaled the collapse of the tunnel.

The twisting knife of malevolent power in her gut brought her back to her task. Drawing on her magic, she let it fill her as she channeled it to bridge the gap between herself and the Veil. Similar to when her magic had melded with Anders' at the docks, she felt her power transforming and shifting to merge more harmoniously with that of the Veil. And like her healing magic, the energy she channeled seemed to know what to do as she guided it to fuse the tears in the Veil much as it would damaged flesh and bone.

A feminine voice and tinkling laughter sliced through Zoya's focus as a chill crawled over her skin. "You really think you have the strength to repair the Veil? Foolish child! You are fighting a losing battle... though I could help you, if that is what you desire."

Zoya shut her eyes and clenched her jaw against any reply, childishly hoping that if she didn't look at or speak to the demon, it would just go away. Rubbing at her temples, she muttered to herself, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" How had she not realized her actions would only draw the demons, leaving her trapped in the vault with the foul creatures? Redoubling her focus, she tapped into the power flowing between herself and the Veil. Only a little more time was needed to repair it enough to discourage more demons from slipping through.

The feminine voice slithered against Zoya's ear as claws grazed her cheek in a disturbing caress. "So much desire in such a small package – delicious!"

Keeping her eyes closed, Zoya growled at the demon who knelt before her. "The only _desire_ I have is that you leave me be while I finish my task."

"Do not lie to me child! I know what you _truly _long for... perhaps even better than you." The demon placed a hand on either side of Zoya's face. "There is the obvious – lust for the mage in the other room." The image of lovers entwined came unbidden into her mind; the sensation of warm fingers ghosting over bare skin sent shivers through her. "Ahh… but you desire so much more. There is your longing for revenge against the Templars and the humans who abuse your people. And deeper still, a need for power and wealth. Rightly so, my pet – possess such things, and you need not fear those seeking to harm you." The images shifted to shadows and flames; a small figure watched triumphantly as the Chantry burned and legions of demons overran the Templar army, feeding the corpses to the flames like kindling. "I can give you all of these things and more, my lovely elf. Just say the word, and I will fulfill your wishes."

With an effort of will, Zoya gathered her magic, building it into a fearsome wave that slammed the demon against the wall of the chamber. "That's what I think of your offer, demon. I'll _never _let you possess me or harm my friends."

"Stupid, naive child! I don't need your permission. Between you and your friends in the next room, I will be content for a long time." The demon's wanton laughter filled the vault as it ran desirous claws over its torso. "But it will be far more pleasant for everyone if you are a willing host. Should you continue to fight me, I will only call more demons against your friends, and there will be far more pain than pleasure in your futures."

So this demon held sway over the demons in the next room? Zoya turned her focus to the sounds of battle on the other side of the barrier. The Templars hadn't yet gotten into the chamber, but the fierce battle with the demons was taking its toll. Her companions were exhausted; she could hear it in their battle cries.

Zoya rose to weary feet, her eyes traveling over the demon. Its voluptuous, scantily clad form was sheathed in silky purple skin and horns curved gracefully from its head. The cold fingers of the demon's will crept over her, chilling her blood and turning her limbs to lead. Moving her legs as she stumbled forward felt like slogging through mud. She gazed into those dark, fathomless eyes as she sighed, "I see no other option."

Stopping within a breath of the demon, her whole body trembled as she fought to maintain self-control. Lecherous whispers drifted through her mind as the image of the creature before her wavered and shifted to look like Anders. Hunger filled the demon's eyes as Zoya reached out to stroke its cheek with gentle fingers before sliding them along its jaw to the nape of its neck.

Zoya said a silent prayer as her fingers closed around one of the many daggers hidden in her fighting leathers. With a swift movement, she buried the blade up to its hilt in the demon's chest. "This is what I think of your offer, bitch!"

The demon howled, its visage writhing with imagined pain. Zoya's heart climbed into her throat as the image of Anders stared back at her, its mouth agape. Even though she knew it wasn't Anders, her blood ran cold at the sight of him impaled on her blade. Before she could waver, Zoya twisted the dagger, pulling the creature closer. Her voice filled with restrained rage. "Don't _ever _threaten those I care about! You'll leave this realm and take your demon dogs with you immediately, or I'll gut you and leave you bleeding out on the floor."

The image shimmered and returned to the demon's form, its face twisting with fury. Another soul searching moment passed before it nodded, locking eyes with Zoya as she stepped back and pulled the knife free.

"You have made a costly mistake, elf," it hissed. "Our _discussion_ will continue at a time and place of _my_ choosing."

Without another sound, the demon sank into the floor, a dark scorch on the tan stone and the black ichor dripping from Zoya's blade the only evidence that it had ever appeared at all. Zoya collapsed to her knees, shuddering breaths wracking her body as she allowed the fear she'd been concealing to wash over her.

Smoothing palms damp with sweat over her hair, she soothed herself with thoughts of being in a cabin on _The Siren_ with Anders' arms tight around her. But as much as she wanted to curl up into a ball someplace dark and quiet, that just wasn't an option - there would be plenty of time to indulge that desire once they escaped the tunnels and the mage hunters' grasp. The clatter of rocks and Isabela's warning shout pulled her focus back to the impending Templar threat.

"Shit!" She leapt to her feet as the air thickened around her with an ominous tension. Running toward the shimmering barrier, she pulled up short, resisting the urge to throw herself against it. "Andraste's flaming tits!" she groaned, realizing the Templars were readying their attack against Anders. How was she going to help him while she was stuck behind this cursed barricade? Pacing in front of it, she slammed a frustrated fist into the stone surround, wishing she knew how to unravel Anders' handiwork.

The familiar feeling of the Templar's cleanse vibrated through the air when it hit; all she could do was brace herself against the loss of her connection to the Fade and hope that Anders was doing the same. Her heart sank as the barrier trapping her in the vault faltered and fell, knowing Anders had lost his ability to maintain the spell. Zoya nervously sucked at a bloodied knuckle before she reached for her magic; hope filled her as the glow of her healing energy mended the torn skin with little effort. She wondered if the cleanse hadn't reached through Anders' barrier into the vault, leaving her access to the power behind the Veil. Perhaps he would be able to regain access to his magic if she could just get him into this room.

Pulling her daggers free from the sheaths on her back, she spun them in her hands, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of her fingers gripping the wooden hilts as she slinked into the chamber. The loss of connection to her magic struck her, leaving a hollow feeling in her gut as soon as she passed over the threshold. So the cleanse _had _only affected the area outside the treasure room. Similar to the vault, the only evidence that remained of the demons were dark scorch marks on the stone floor. Her threat had worked; the desire demon had taken its minions with it when it retreated back through the Veil. Maker only knew what that success might one day cost her.

As she approached Isabela, Zoya was thankful to find that the woman was uninjured. Black ichor dripped from her twin blades and freckled her dusky skin. The pirate grinned widely in surprise when she spotted the elf advancing toward her. "Nice of you to finally join us, kitten. You missed all the fun. Sparkles and I make a pretty good team - he would freeze the demons and I would cut them down. Heh, I almost felt bad for those flaming bastards."

Zoya grimaced, "Isabela – can you keep the Templars distracted while I check on Anders? I'd hate to give them an opportunity to smite us. I think if we keep them busy, they won't be able to use their powers."

Isabela threw a concerned glance over her shoulder at the mage. "Anders could probably use your loving care right about now - he was getting pretty worn down by the time the demons disappeared back into the floor, and I don't think whatever the Templars did helped him any." Isabela pulled Zoya into a quick hug "Good luck, kitten..." She slipped silently into the darkness to engage the Templar moving through the broken stone at the entrance to the west tunnel.

Zoya crept along the edge of the chamber, flitting through the shadows until she reached Anders' side. The mage sagged against the stone wall, the accumulation of cuts, bruises, and burns from fighting demons catching up to him. Based on his condition, he'd been using healing magic to help the pirate but hadn't tended to his own injuries during the battle. She arched an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching into a nervous smile as she reached out to rub a line of soot from his stubbled cheek. "Well… I've seen you look worse. Do you think you can still fight?"

Anders offered her a lopsided grin, "It's too bad that Templar cleansed the chamber. I'd give anything for even _your _healing spells right about now."

Zoya ducked under the mage's arm, supporting his weight as they stumbled toward the vault. "Anything, eh? I'll hold you to that. One thing I can say about you, love… you create powerful barriers." Once they passed over the threshold, Zoya felt the magic flow into her again. Leaning Anders against the door frame, she turned to press into him as she wrapped her arms around his waist. As she sent the golden light of her healing energy over him, Anders responded with a pleasured groan that made her knees weak and brought heat to her face. Biting the inside of her cheek, she fought to regain focus. "If I give you some of my mana, do you think you could put it to use? Nothing fancy – just keeping Isabela and I on our feet?"

Anders nodded as their eyes locked, "Zoya, I…"

Zoya reached out, pressing a finger against his lips to shush him. She held her breath as he cupped her face, tipping her chin up so their lips could meet. The soft pressure of his lips on hers was joined by a pleasant tingling as the current of her mana flowed into him. Anders gasped as her energy flooded his body. As their lips parted, the sensation lingered where her hand rested over his heart.

Startled by the sound of metal boots scraping on stone, she spun to see a Templar striding toward her like a nightmare come to life. Terror froze Zoya in place as he advanced on them, his sword raised and his hand outstretched as he prepared to unleash his smite. Zoya took a deep breath as she launched herself at the armored human, her only plan being to distract the Templar and keep him from using his powers. Her daggers glanced off the smooth surface of his cuirass as he stepped back, pushing her away with his forearm.

Grunting in frustration, Zoya landed in a crouch between the Templar and the wall; she coiled herself to spring before charging the Templar again. Dipping under the horizontal swing of his blade, Zoya got close enough to slash into the unarmored underside of his sword arm. The human roared in pain and anger as his weapon clattered to the floor. He lunged at her, grabbing the front of her fighting leathers as he slammed her against the wall. As he lifted her from her feet, she lashed out with violent kicks, hoping to land a well-placed blow. Her arms were still free, and she wondered if she could angle her blades to wound him. Frantic eyes searched, but there was nothing she could reach that was vulnerable, at least nothing that wasn't encased in slick metal.

It was disturbing to see nothing more of this man than what was visible through the slit of his visor. His eyes were filled with hatred, and Zoya shuddered at the vehemence that gleamed in those orbs. But then the rage turned to surprise, accompanied by a ragged gasp as he released her and collapsed to his knees. Isabela braced against the Templar with one foot as she wrenched her daggers from under his arms, grinning wickedly at Zoya as she flicked her blades to clear them of blood. "That makes two for me and none for you – only two left if you plan to catch up."

Zoya's eyes searched the chamber for the remaining Templars. Her jaw dropped as she spotted Anders outside the relative safety of the vault, his staff whirling in his hands as he blocked and parried the Templar's attacks. Her heart swelled with pride; Anders was using the skills she'd shown him! The mage was holding his own against the Templar's attack, but each time staff met sword, Zoya sensed the Templar had absorbed more of Anders' mana.

Anger flared within her when she saw blood trickling down one side of the mage's face. Zoya shifted her grip on her blades as she stepped away from the fallen Templar and dashed across the chamber to assist Anders. Shouting a challenge, she sent a knife spinning at the Templar's helmeted head to make sure she had his attention. The Templar whirled on her, batting the knife out of the air with his sword before stepping forward to engage her. She pulled a second blade from her boot as she moved forward to meet him.

They circled each other until he broke their stalemate, swinging his sword in a downward arc at her head. Zoya grunted as she caught his sword with her blades and deflected it to the side, the momentum of his attack throwing him off balance. Her hands and arms felt numb from force of the man's sword hitting her daggers and his mana drain, but she managed to maintain her grip on their hilts.

Zoya skipped back from the armored human, shaking out her arms. From the corner of her eye, she saw Isabela head through the crumbling tunnel opening and Anders striding toward her. She narrowed her eyes, trying not to lose her focus on the Templar, "Anders... don't worry about me - help Isabela!" She spun and aimed her daggers at the gap in the Templar's armor under his arm, but he shifted at the last moment and the blades skidded off his cuirass. Before his sword could connect with her again, she danced back out of his reach and the wary circling resumed. Blades flashed as she spun, blocking and slicing as she advanced on the Templar.

The Templar's sword bore down on her, and again she caught it in crossed blades. Before she could twist out from under his attack, he withdrew his sword, catching her by the front of her leathers and holding her firm. He spoke in a deep voice that echoed from within his helmet, their deadly duet leaving him winded. "I once encountered an elven apostate who fought like you do. It didn't help her any more than it will help you."

Images of her mother's death, lifeless eyes staring skyward, flooded her thoughts, but she clenched her teeth and pushed them away with firm resolve. She tried to keep her face neutral as she felt the Templar's cleanse dissipate and her connection to the Fade returning. Her voice was little more than a growl when she spoke. "Is that supposed to scare me, mage hunter? I've had a really bad night, and you're not _even _the most frightening thing I've come up against..." A cold ball of rage blossomed in her center and joined with the power she drew through the Veil, mixing with fear as he gathered his own power.

Once the energy built to its zenith, Zoya's magic burst forth, knocking the armored man from his feet. Before he could rise, she straddled him, wrenching off his helmet and grasping his throat in her small hand. The violence in his eyes shifted to terror as she channeled her wrath into him, warping the healing magic to destroy instead of repair. Even through her fury, bile rose in her throat and she shuddered in horror at what her power could do; the man convulsed, his armor rattling as blood flowed from his nose and bubbled from his mouth.

A warning shout from Isabela dragged her attention away from the dying human. Focused on the man's last moments, Zoya hadn't noticed the final Templar gathering his own power to strike. She had assumed that Isabela would dispatch the man as easily as she had the other two. But there was the pirate, collapsed to her knees and bleeding out on the stone floor, already dismissed as harmless by the Templar now advancing on Zoya. Where was Anders? The last time she had seen him, Zoya had sent him in pursuit of Isabela.

She felt the weight of worry lifted from her shoulders as he emerged from the tunnel, looking worse for wear but alive and combative. He looked around with bleary eyes, one hand alight with healing energy and clutching his head. Their gazes locked and she twitched her head toward the gravely injured pirate, "Isabela needs your help more than I do!" Anders nodded and moved to kneel beside Isabela, his healing magic knitting the woman's torn flesh.

Seeing Zoya's focus waver, the Templar took the opportunity to strike, lunging with a slice of his sword that would have cleaved her in two had she not tumbled out of the way at the last moment. She was barely on her feet before he was advancing on her, his sword whirling in a silver blur. Zoya parried, evading the Templar's attacks as she watched for a chance to incapacitate him. She used her greater agility to her advantage, darting to slip behind the Templar and lashing out with a vicious kick to back of his knee.

Retreating out of his reach, Zoya yanked power through the Veil and forced it into a malevolent orb, snarling as she released it in a single blast. The violent energy had just left her control when Anders snuck up to attack the distracted Templar from behind; she shouted a warning, but it was too late. Anders' attempt to block the spell with a barrier wasn't enough to avoid damage as he and the Templar hit the stone wall together in a tangle.

Zoya loosed a keening wail as she rushed to the mage's side, hastily disentangling him from the Templar's still form. She put her head on his chest, letting out a relieved breath - he was still breathing, his heart thudding in labored beats. He groaned as his eyes fluttered open, "Remind me not to get in the way of one of your spells again. Or to ever get you mad enough to kick me."

Isabela rushed toward them, her clothing tattered but her body mended by Anders' magic. "We need to get out of here now! More Templars are going to come looking for their friends and we don't want to be here when they do..." She helped Zoya pull Anders to his feet; they each ducked under an arm, helping to hold him upright. Isabela shifted the mage onto Zoya as they reached the vault, ducking into the room to grab her pack of loot before they fled into the tunnel. "It would be a shame to leave empty handed, don't you think?"

Zoya bit back a nasty reply about the pirate caring more about her profit than her injured companion, but it wasn't Isabela who'd wounded Anders. The pain of her guilt cut her to the quick as she was again reminded that her magic only ended up hurting or killing people. This time she had twisted her power to kill Templars and ended up injuring Anders as well. The terror on the Templar's face as her magic shredded him from the inside out writhed in her gut - she didn't want to believe she could use her magic for something like that, but the memories of the human's horror and Anders crumpled at the base of the wall were all the evidence she needed.

Zoya swallowed hard, shaking her head to clear it - now wasn't the time to grapple with her conscience about the darker side of her power. As she listened to the sound of armor clanking behind them, she knew she needed to focus on speeding them through the tunnel to the landing. At the rate the Templars were gaining, it was unlikely the companions would be able to escape the tunnels before they were intercepted.

By the time they reached the crack in the rock leading to the landing, Zoya knew what she had to do to get her companions to safety. She wouldn't let the Templars capture Anders again. They'd nearly killed him once already, and she doubted they would just drag him back to the Circle if they seized him now. Panic settled in her gut as she listened to the echo of metal on stone - they didn't have much time before the Templar patrol reached them.

They slid into the inky blackness of the crack, and Zoya channeled energy into her hand to light their way. Once they reached the landing, the women eased Anders to the ground. Zoya knelt next to the mage, letting her magic roam over him; she sighed with relief when she realized he hadn't been injured as badly as she feared. She'd been lucky this time - her magic could have killed him. It wasn't much, but at least she could use her healing energy to soothe the mage's wounds. His face relaxed, the expression almost peaceful as the golden aura blanketed him.

Isabela stood watch at the opening in the stone, her eyes shifting between peering into the crack and eyeing Zoya with concern. "It's not your fault, kitten."

Zoya chewed on her lower lip as she brushed back a stray lock of Anders' hair, tracing her fingers over the lines of his exhausted face. Tears blurred her vision as she turned to look at Isabela. "If I distract the Templars, can you safely get him out of here and back to your ship?"

Isabela regarded the elf for a moment before she offered a sad smile and a slight nod. "For the record, I won our little contest - I wore that last Templar down before you finished him. So the final score was two and a half for me to one and a half for you."

Zoya smirked at the pirate, "If that's the way you count them, then I'd get an assist for that second Templar you killed. So we'd actually be tied - we each took out one on our own and each assisted with one." She chuckled at the confusion on Isabela's face as she tried to work her way through the elf's logic. But then her expression turned melancholy, "I'd promise to buy you a drink at the Pearl once we're out of here, but..."

Isabela pulled Zoya into a tight hug, "But you're broke until I give you your share of the loot. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Anders' elegant fingers closed around hers as he struggled to get up. "I'm not... leaving you here... to deal with the Templars alone!"

Zoya silenced his objections with the firm pressure of her lips. She sighed as she pulled away enough to look into his eyes, her hand caressing the stubble of his cheek. "We don't have time to argue – they're almost here. If we stay together, we'll be caught for sure. But if I'm alone, I can probably sneak past them." Resting her forehead against his, she whispered, "Don't worry about me – I'll be fine. I'll see you back at the tunnels."

Before he could stop her, Zoya rose to her feet and ducked into the crack in the stone; she paused just long enough to weave a barrier over the opening. Tears burned her eyes as she crept through the rough fissure back to the man-carved passage. A mocking voice in the back of her mind chided her, _"You'll never see him again… and you'll never get past those Templars!"_ She pressed her fists against her eyes, pushing her self-doubt away. There was no time to think about what she was doing; she'd made a plan and now she had to carry it out. While her chances for success weren't in her favor, she had to trust, to hope that she'd escape the tunnels free and unharmed so she could leave with Anders and Isabela.

The Templars were close - it sounded like there were at least two patrols approaching. Slipping back into the lantern light of the smooth-walled tunnel, she waited just outside the crack, her head pounding as hard as her heart as her exertions began to take their toll. Her hands pressed against either side of the opening as she drew power through the Veil, amassing it at her center before sending it through her limbs to gather in the stone. Zoya directed the energy into the minor faults and fissures spider-webbing through the rock, using it to expand the cracks.

Heart thudding loudly in her chest, she watched as the Templars moved cautiously into the tunnel, gathering their power to disrupt her magic. Just as she felt their impending attack reach its peak, she sent one last burst of magic into the stone, stepping into the Between as the stone fractured and collapsed the crack and the walls of the tunnel around it. Rock dust and debris filled the passage as she slipped past the stunned Templars.

It didn't take long for their shouts of alarm to echo along the stone, but Zoya focused on continuing to move as quickly as she could, letting fear speed her feet. She knew she needed to get through this long, narrow stretch of tunnel before she encountered another patrol. The air of the Between rippled around her, the drab stone glimmering red as it billowed and flowed. The odd perception of the passage lengthening away from her as she ran along it on unfeeling feet only added to her apprehension.

The sounds of the Templars mobilizing behind her reached her ears as she heard the forward patrol advancing. In this place Between, the clank of their armor was muffled and dull, and she had to strain her ears to hear it. She swallowed hard, willing her feet to move faster.

Her blood ran cold as she reached the patrol; they'd sensed her magic moving toward them, and were waiting as she approached. The vibrations in the air of the Between increased in frequency, forming into a high-pitched shriek as the Templars gathered their power. As she fought not to press her fist to her ears, she couldn't help but wonder if this was what her mother had experienced as she fled the Templars that fateful night on the docks. Her heart climbed into her throat, but she didn't slow her feet, instead keeping her eyes focused on the tunnel beyond the humans.

Zoya didn't know what would happen if she touched one of the humans while they were gathering power against her, and she didn't want to find out. Ducking and swerving, she threaded her way around the heavily armored men, careful not to make contact. Just as she moved past the last Templar in the corridor, hope swelling in her chest, the humans loosed their cleanse. It came screaming toward her in a visible wave of darkness; her vision blurred as she sought her exit in advance of the Templars' spell, nearly tripping as she transitioned out of the Between into the living world. Her heart threatened to burst, a cold sweat prickling between her shoulder blades as she felt their eyes targeting her now exposed back.

A bend in the tunnel up ahead beckoned to her, but the air was again thickening with the Templars' cumulative power. She wasn't quite fast enough to beat the excruciating force of their smite as it slammed into her from behind, smashing her into the stone wall with enough force to knock the air from her lungs.

Zoya lay dazed at the base of the wall, helpless to do anything other than watch the Templars approach with swords drawn. Two of the men hauled her up from the ground, their gauntlets digging cruelly into the flesh of her upper arms. Struggling ineffectively between them, panic set in as it fueled her need to fight; she tried to wrench herself free, twisting in their grip and kicking at their legs to trip them up. The world around her exploded with light as something crashed into the back of her head, and then all went dark.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N - Thank you to everyone for patiently waiting for me to post this chapter. As always, special love and thanks goes out to Eve Hawke for being the bestest beta mommy EVER! Special thanks goes out to my dear friend Etaine M for letting me whine and cry on her shoulder as I drafted this chapter. To those of you who have continued to support and review this story (and me while writing it), I give my never ending gratitude *hugs* **_

The whites of her eyes and glint of pearly teeth were all Anders could see in the shadows of the alley as Isabela looked behind her to make sure he was still following. Halting their progress as they reached the circle of lantern light where the street intersected with the alley, she spoke in hushed tones. "I know you have unfinished _business _with our little elf, but we aren't going to be waiting around for her once we get back to _The Siren_."

Anders raised an eyebrow, not sure he'd heard the pirate correctly. Was she actually suggesting they leave Zoya behind? He crossed his arms, his voice a harsh whisper. "What are you talking about, Isabela?"

"Do you really think we got away so easily?" The pirate ran nimble fingers through her dark locks and brushed smudges of dirt from her breeches. She looked over his shoulder into the alley and back out into the street before motioning him to follow. Anders hurried to keep up, frustrated that he was unable to replicate her silent grace; every step seemed to echo loudly against the stone of the surrounding buildings. He struggled to hear as she continued speaking in a muted voice. "The Chantry or the City Guard _will_ find us. They've probably captured Zoya, and they're going to show up at _The Siren_ next. Then they'll search my ship and find all sorts of things I don't want found. I can't let that happen." They skirted along the buildings to the dark shelter of the next alley.

He lunged forward, grabbing the pirate's arm to stop her, his voice raising in anger. "We had a deal – Zoya and I help you get the loot and you take us out of Denerim and share the profits."

Isabela hushed Anders by placing a finger against his lips. "Plans change, sparkles. Our accord was struck before the Templars got involved. I didn't want a fight with them." She stepped toward him, her fingers tracing down his chest. "But I never said _you_ couldn't come with me." Arching into him, her lips grazed his cheek as she whispered in his ear. "I have so many uses for someone with your _skills_. Give me an hour, and you'll have forgotten all about the elf."

Anders let go of Isabela's arm and took a hasty step away from her, "I told you before – I'm _not_ leaving without her. She said to meet her in the tunnels, and that's exactly what I plan to do. I promised her I would get her out of Denerim."

Isabela snorted inelegantly, waving a dismissive hand. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! That girl has you completely whipped, and you haven't even tumbled her yet. Imagine how wrapped around her finger you'll be once she spreads her legs for you." She turned to continue on her way. "Or maybe you'll finally be able to move on and focus on what's really important."

Anders froze in place, suddenly no longer interested in following her. He scowled at the pirate as he tried to keep the anger out of his voice; he'd grown tired of the woman's opinions about him and Zoya. So he hadn't bedded her yet - it was unusual for him, but he was wearying of Isabela's need to provoke him about it. "And what would that be?"

She paused, turning to regard him over her shoulder with amber eyes, a wry smile quirking at his annoyance. "Touched a nerve, have I? That you even need to ask, my lovely mage, tells me that your time in captivity has dulled you." The pirate chuckled softly. "Do these things mean anything to you – toe-curling sex, priceless treasures, epic adventure, freedom to do what you want with who you want? Because I remember a time when they did." She turned her back to him and drifted back into the shadows, her hips swaying as she picked her way carefully along the cobbles.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to regain his composure. Memories of his brief time with Zoya flitted through his mind. He was starting to feel an attachment to her; just admitting that to himself set off an uneasy fluttering in his chest. But he wasn't in the Circle anymore; this might be his chance for a more emotional entanglement. Well, at least until the Templars caught up to him again. Shaking his head in frustration, he dragged both hands through his hair, sighing heavily before hurrying to catch up to Isabela.

They reached the docks faster than he expected, and with no sign of pursuit. Maybe it was because Zoya had led the Templars off in another direction, or maybe Isabela was right and they had captured her. His stomach churned at the thought of what would happen to her in their custody. No, he didn't want to think about that. He had to believe that she'd escaped and was safely awaiting him in the tunnels.

Anders found his feet dragging as Isabela shifted her path toward _The Siren_. Sensing he was no longer following, the pirate turned. "You're really not coming with me? You're going to the tunnels to wait for Zoya?"

Anders swallowed hard, "I need to keep my promise. Besides, she might already be there. Just give me a couple of hours…"

Isabela anchored a fist on her cocked hip, "You're wrong if you think I'm going to wait around for you. You'd better hope she turns up soon. If you're not on the deck of _The Siren_ in two hours, I'll sail without you." As she sauntered off toward her ship, Anders wondered if he was making the right choice.

~oOo~

The darkness was stifling as it surrounded her, wrapping her in its cold tendrils and pulling her deeper into the empty blackness. _Maker's breath... where am I?_ Zoya delved into her muddled mind, tracing back through her memories. The last thing she remembered was running for her life, leading the Templars away from Anders, before they struck her down._ Am I dead? Is this the Void? It would be... unfortunate... if this is all I have to look forward to..._

It tempted her, this nothingness. _Let go of the pain and the guilt and the worry. So peaceful... drifting here..._ She could easily surrender to it, but instinct told her to reach out, to grasp for a way to anchor herself. She fought against deadened limbs, feeling numbness transition to the discomfort of pins and needles as she forced them to obey.

The sound of men's voices and the clanking of armor tore through the darkness blanketing her._ Idiot! Open your eyes..._ Her eyes flew open, the flickering light lancing through her head as the pain traveled from her afflicted orbs along a stream that pooled at the base of her skull. She bit back the curses forming on her lips, tasting blood as teeth sliced into the tender flesh on the inside of her cheek. It would do her no good to alert her captors that she was awake.

Hands moved of their own accord to shield her eyes, but were stopped short. Was she restrained? Carefully peeling them open, she focused bleary eyes on her fetters. A short chain ran from the wall to the manacles circling her wrists. The tarnished steel of the cuffs cut cruelly into raw and reddened skin, contrasting with hands so pale they were nearly blue. The manacles were cold, heavy things, threatening to drag her back down into the abyss as surely as a lead weight. For a moment, she considered letting them.

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs settling there, instantly regretting her decision as agony ripped through her head again. She bit down on her lip, sucking it between her teeth as she fought to remain silent. Anders would tease her about chewing on her lip in such a way. "You shouldn't abuse such loveliness," he would chide, then swoop in to kiss her. The memory of his mouth on hers sent warmth radiating from her core, renewing her need to break free from this confinement. Had he escaped? Or was he also suffering and chained in a nearby cell?

A shiver shook her slender frame; the unforgiving stone was cold against her bare skin, sapping any warmth granted by her thoughts of Anders. As the chill of the uneven cobbles pressed against her ribs and hip, she realized that her captors had taken her armor, leaving her nothing but her small clothes. But what was threatening to overcome her was more than just the frigid stone and cool air, it was a coldness, or rather numbness, spreading from the manacles. Again, she felt the lure of oblivion - the freedom from pain and weariness. She sighed, pushing back against the torpor enfolding her as she dragged herself upright. _No! It's time to get out of this place._

The throbbing in her head and heaviness of her cuffed hands as they dropped into her lap were suddenly inconsequential as she became aware of the low voices of two human men rumbling outside the room. Zoya strained to hear their words in the hopes of discovering more about her captors and their plans for her.

"Why'd you have to bring her here? What am I gonna do with her once she wakes up? I don't wanna be turned into a toad!" His whiny voice was tense with fear.

The deeper voice that responded had a trace of an accent. "The Knight-Captain has an agreement with the arl's son, so I brought her here per his orders. She's Bann Vaughan's plaything until he's done with her." The din of heavy armor drowned out the low voices for a moment before she heard more. "I can't believe you're frightened of the elf. She's harmless - she can't use magic while she's wearing the cuffs. I just hope the bann leaves enough to take back to the Circle Tower this time – she'd be a valuable Tranquil."

Panic burrowed into her gut, churning bile into a mouth gone dry with fear. They were taking her back to the Circle to make her Tranquil. Fighting back her growing desperation, she inspected the cuffs more closely to determine how they severed her connection to the Fade and how to get out of them. Even through her anxiety, Zoya's focus sharpened, one thought rising above the others. _There's no way I'm going to let them take me to the Circle! I'm going to get out of this cell and back to the Alienage tunnels; Anders is there waiting so we can leave Denerim together. Everything will be better once we're on board The Siren. _This last bit chased through her head in a soothing mantra..._ Anders... The Siren_... These words were a comfort, an escape, and for the moment it was all Zoya wanted.

"It still makes me twitchy that one of them robes is on my watch." The man's voice was cracking from anxiety. "And I don't think Bann Vaughan's getting to her anytime soon. He's busy with the other knife ears snatched from the Alienage tonight. I hear one of 'em – a little red-haired wench - tried to fight back. The bann said he's gonna enjoy taking his time breaking her."

Zoya's ears twitched and she held her breath at the mention of other elves. Her gut clenched, _Little red-haired wench... No... It couldn't be..._

"From what I've heard, the bann's appetites are… disturbing. But then money and power will buy you a lot of latitude." The man's deep voice was strangely calm as he spoke, "We've brought a half-dozen women to him and his cronies for their _entertainment_ in so many months and only one has survived to take to the Circle. It was a kindness to make that one Tranquil. I hear he's got the same arrangement with the City Guard?"

Zoya could hear one of the men start to pace, his sword jangling against his armor. "Yeah, that's who brought in the other lot. The bann wanted some wenches for a party and got wind there's gonna be a wedding tomorrow in the Alienage. They figured them knife ears would use that as an excuse to drink, so maybe easy hunting. I hear a couple of 'em were killed on the spot for having knives. But they dragged two wenches back here with a brother of one of 'em. I don't know why they didn't just kill him there. Maybe he's gonna be a warning to the others not to act up."

Her breath caught in her chest. _Oh Maker... Please don't let it be... _Before she left the Alienage earlier to meet Anders for the Chantry heist, her cousins had told her of their plans to continue their pre-wedding celebrations into the night. Soris had even suggested she come back after she was done at the Chantry to join them. Dread threatened to paralyze her as her mind raced; she needed to get out of this cell, to try to help the others if she could.

Zoya looked down at the manacles and wondered how many women had died wearing them. Clenching her teeth and pushing her fear to the back of her mind, she made a silent vow; _I won't allow myself, or anyone else, to be another one of Vaughan's victims._

Sliding back against the cold, stone wall, she was able to get enough play in the chain to run her fingers through her hair. Adaia had been persistent in her lessons, and a bitter smile tugged at Zoya's lips as her mother's words sounded in her ear, "You can't always be lucky, but you can be prepared to make your own luck - always have a plan."

Her captors might have taken her fighting leathers, but nimble fingers found the hairpin still hidden in the thick braid hanging down her back. The crude metal of the manacles cut into her wrists as she twisted them to access the simple lock. Zoya maneuvered the hairpin, her numb fingers doing as they'd been trained over years of practice. The lock snapped open with a deafening _click_, and the manacles tumbled to her a lap. She flinched as gruesome images flitted through her mind of imagined traps being triggered by unlocking the cuffs without a key. It couldn't be this easy to free herself from the cursed things. But then, she doubted that the Templars were worried about their captives getting free of the cuffs - how many mages were skilled at picking locks?

The change was instantaneous - the fog lifted from her mind, her hands returned to their normal color and her connection to the Fade trickled back. Once she retrieved her belongings and her pack, she'd take the vile cuffs and destroy them so they couldn't be used against anyone else. Zoya climbed to her feet and reached through the heavy bars of the cell door to manipulate the lock mechanism with her hairpin, practiced fingers moving blindly. Within the space of a breath, the lock clicked open. Reaching past the bars, she raised the lever to open the cell door, listening to make sure the release wasn't heard by the guards. Silent feet carried her in the direction of the voices, further into the dungeons.

Rounding a corner, she spotted the chainmail-clad human guard sitting at a table with his back to her. Bare feet gliding noiselessly along the stone, she moved to within a breath of the man. So silent was her passage that she went completely unnoticed until her slender arm snaked around his neck. Her other hand darted out to snatch the dagger from his belt, pressing the point against his jugular. She spoke in a low growl, her lips within a breath of his ear, "Where are the other elves that got brought in tonight, shem? And where's the mage-hunter?"

The man tensed, trying very hard not to move as the blade dug into his throat. His voice cracked as he spoke, "Oh Maker... please don't turn me into a slug or anything! Vaughan's got the women up in his quarters – at the top of the stairs next to where you was kept. The other's in the next block of cells - just head down that tunnel ahead. I don't know where the Templar is – gone probably…" The man was shaking, his voice desperate, "Please don't kill me… I never hurt any of your kind and I got a family… a wife and two boys… they need me!"

"You might never have hurt any of my _kind_, but did you do anything to help them? How many died under your watch, shem?" She spoke in a venomous tone as she tried to work her rage up to drive the blade into his neck. As the human flinched, a sob catching in his throat, she sighed in frustration knowing she wasn't going to be able to kill him. "If I were you, I'd find a different job. Thank you for your assistance…" Flipping the dagger in her hand, she smashed the hilt into his temple and lowered his head to the table next to his unfinished meal. Shrugging, she grabbed the hunk of bread from his plate and crammed it into her mouth – there was no point in letting the human's dinner go to waste while her stomach was empty and growling.

As she searched the storage trunks in the otherwise spare room, she collected her fighting leathers and other belongings. With practiced fingers, she slipped into the tight leather with a grateful sigh and fastened the buckles and laces, checking to make sure the hidden knives and other tools were in their proper pockets.

Moving on silent feet through the passageway, she listened for other guards. The dungeons were silent as the grave. Reaching the next group of cells, she moved along the barred doors and peered through each one, hoping to find the other elven prisoners. A familiar form lay huddled on the floor at the back of a cell. Her voice was little more than a whisper as she unlocked the door with pilfered keys and swung the door open. "Soris? Are you alright?"

He stared at her blankly, "What? What are you doing here?" Zoya rushed into the cell, kneeling next to her cousin as she bristled at the sight of his battered and swollen face. Soris gingerly poked at his split lip with the tip of his tongue. "We were celebrating… I tried to stop the humans… They took Shianni and Nola! We have to find them before… we don't have much time…"

Zoya lay gentle hands on either side of Soris' face, letting her healing energy flow into him as she spoke. "I know where they are – it's not far. But before we go, you need to be healed and armed. Are you up for a fight? I don't think we're getting out of here without blood being spilled."

Groaning as he let Zoya drag him to unsteady feet, he lurched at her, clasping his hands around her upper arms. They locked eyes, his widening for a moment before he nodded. "Whatever it takes, cousin."

~oOo~

The leather soles of his boots slapped against the stone floor in a rapid rhythm as he paced the length of the training room. His head was spinning, his thoughts a whirlwind. _It's been far too long… She should have been here by now!_ He stopped his pacing, holding his breath and willing his heart to quiet as he strained his ears. There was only silence; his breath escaped him in a rush as he dragged his hands through his hair and resumed his pacing.

_Andraste's flaming knickers – get a grip, man. She's fine and she'll be here any minute. You'll see… There's no way she didn't escape the Templars!_ But Anders knew better; he could wish for her to be safe, but it would be foolish to do so. _I could have stopped her, but I didn't. _His blood ran cold at the thought of being recaptured by the Templars - he would be dragged back to the Circle Tower, or killed, or even worse, made Tranquil. Guilt wrenched his gut as he let the words come. _I was thankful she was drawing the Templars off so I could escape. But if I truly cared for her,_ _I would have stayed with her or kept her from leaving._

Shaking his head to clear it, Anders realized the unhappy truth - deep down he was a selfish coward and even if he did care for Zoya, he cared for himself more. There was a part of him that hated that he hadn't tried to protect Zoya and knew she deserved a far better man than himself. But he owed it to her to help her now. _Maker, let her be alright… Let her return here safely._

He considered leaving the tunnels to find her, but he didn't even know where to start looking. Zoya had said she would meet him here. If she escaped the Templars, he risked missing her if he left. If she was captured, he didn't know where they would take her – maybe directly to the Circle or perhaps in a cell somewhere until the morning? It was strange, something he'd never experienced before, this mixture of fear and guilt and helplessness and impotence. It was driving him mad.

Anders whirled toward the sound of quiet footsteps approaching the training room. A weight lifted from his chest and a relieved smile tugged at his lips, but it died as he remembered that Zoya wouldn't let her footsteps be heard. Raising both hands and turning his palms skyward, he drew energy, forming it into searing balls of light that hovered and spun inches above his outstretched fingers.

He didn't need to wait long; the bearded human stepped into the entryway of the training room, torchlight shimmering on his silver armor as he raised both hands before him to show he meant no harm. He spoke in a deep voice laced with subtle humor, "Ahh… now I understand Zoya's fascination - you're a mage. Her mother could never resist taking in stray mages either." The heavily armored man crossed an arm over his chest and gave a slight bow. "My name is Duncan. I'm an old friend of Zoya's. I was hoping to find her here."

The lightning balls extinguished as Anders closed his fists and dropped them to his side. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he spoke with an incredulous tone. "Duncan? Commander of the Grey?" Encouraged by a nod of the man's dark head, he continued. "Zoya speaks highly of you. She said you and her mother were… quite close, that you taught her to fight." He felt reluctant to continue, but the man's dark eyes fixed on him expectantly. "Zoya isn't here…"

Duncan crossed her arms, his neutral face shifting into a scowl as a crease formed between his brows. "When I didn't find her in the Alienage, I assumed she'd be here. Where is she?"

Feeling strangely like he did when he was brought before the First Enchanter, Anders looked down at his feet and tried to make his face look innocent as he composed his response. There was something about talking to authority figures that brought out the charlatan within him. A lie bloomed on his lips - something about a fair maiden, a vicious dragon, a daring rescue, maybe involving a griffin since Zoya had a bit of an obsession with the creatures - but then the concern in Duncan's eyes drew the truth forth. "We were _liberating_ some items from the Chantry earlier this evening when the Templars interrupted us. Zoya led them off so I could escape with another in our party. She said she'd meet me back here, but she hasn't returned."

Duncan nodded, sadness filling his eyes. "Her mother was like that, always putting the welfare of others before her own." A troubled look settled on his features as he stroked his beard. "Zoya knows just about every tunnel under this city; if she escaped the Templars, she'd be here by now. Even now she's likely in their custody. As she's an apostate, they'll have taken her to the dungeons in the Denerim estate until they can transport her to the Circle Tower, assuming they didn't kill her outright."

Anders' heart clenched as Duncan confirmed his worst fears. The guilt he'd been nursing grew; Zoya was in trouble, and _he_ was to blame. Images of Isabela and _The Siren_ came unbidden to his mind. It was likely still waiting at the docks - all he'd have to do was leave, and this remorse could remain behind him.

That he would even consider such a thing horrified him. _I can't just abandon her. But then what could I possibly do to save her? If I tried, I'd probably just get captured or killed, and how would that help her?_

Duncan circled the room as Anders' thoughts warred in his head, pausing to trace a casual hand over the implements secured on the weapons' rack. He wrapped strong fingers around the pommel of one sword, lifting it for closer inspection before running a finger along its keen edge. "Do you have a plan for rescue? I assume you wouldn't abandon a companion."

Anders groaned, his head falling into his hands. "No... Andraste's flaming ass, this is all such a mess..."

Duncan turned his attention to Anders, regarding him with calm eyes. "Perhaps you weren't aware, but the Grey Wardens are currently encamped at Ostagar with half the soldiers in Ferelden preparing to stop the next Blight. I came to Denerim to find additional recruits to bolster our numbers. I could conscript Zoya into the Wardens, save her from what the Templars have in store for her."

Hope made his heart catch and he risked raising his eyes to meet Duncan's. "That's right! As a Grey Warden, you could conscript Zoya, even if she'd been arrested by the Templars! And you'd be willing to do that?"

Duncan returned the sword to the rack and moved to one of the long work tables, pausing to let his fingers linger on the wooden practice daggers he'd carved for Zoya so long ago. "Adaia and I trained her. I don't doubt that she has abilities that would benefit the Wardens in our fight against the darkspawn." He turned his dark eyes toward Anders, "I do have one question first. What are your intentions toward Zoya?"

Anders arched an eyebrow, "Intentions?"

Duncan crossed his arms, "Don't play dumb, lad. What are your plans? Had it been she who arrived here moments ago, what would your next steps be?"

Anders bit his tongue, certain it would be a bad idea to share with Duncan what he'd hoped to be doing had Zoya walked into the room instead of the Warden. And he certainly didn't think it was good idea to share his feelings towards Zoya with Duncan, not that he truly understood them himself. He decided the best course of action was to keep his answer simple and leave out anything regarding emotional or physical entanglements. "I don't know if you were aware of this, but Zoya is to be married tomorrow - her father arranged the match, not that she was happy about it. I agreed to help her leave Denerim so she wouldn't have to go through with the wedding. We had an arrangement with the captain of a ship here for safe passage out of the city, thus the Chantry misadventure. We were going to sail before first light."

Duncan regarded him, stroking his thick beard with a gloved hand. "I see. So she is set on leaving Denerim?" He paused for Anders' nod of confirmation, "If Zoya's been arrested, I can conscript her and she'll be released into my service. But if I do that, she'll not be leaving with you - she'll be going to Ostagar with me to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens. She'll have to leave her old life behind. Are you prepared to not see her again?"

"I don't suppose you could conscript her just to get her freed and then let us leave as we planned?" Anders offered Duncan a wry grin.

Duncan quirked an eyebrow, shaking his head, "I'm guessing you're on the run from the Circle?" Again, Duncan paused for Anders' silent confirmation. "Have you considered what your future with Zoya would be like? You know as well as I that if Zoya leaves with you, she'll be hunted by the Templars as an apostate just as you've been. You'd live hunted, forever on guard, risking betrayal to the Chantry by every person you encounter. And as a Circle mage, the Templars have your phylactery. Have you considered that when they use it to track you down, it will lead them to her as well? Do you think she'll let them take you without a fight? Eventually she'd be captured and made a Tranquil or executed. Or perhaps she'd sacrifice herself to protect you, much like she did tonight, only I'll not be there to intervene."

Anders rubbed the stubble along his jaw. He really hadn't given much thought to what their lives would be like once they left Denerim. Guilt pressed down on him like a weight and he moved to the sleeping platform, sitting down and dropping his head to his hands. Duncan was right - all he could offer was a life on the run, constantly watching over their shoulders for the Templars and always wondering when someone would report them to the Chantry. Zoya deserved a better life than the one he could provide.

Duncan laid a hand on Anders' shoulder, his voice sympathetic. "I do understand lad, better than you might know. I had an opportunity to conscript Adaia, but it was decided she would stay in the Alienage with her new husband. Had I conscripted her, perhaps she wouldn't have been executed by the Templars. This is a chance for Zoya to avoid her mother's fate - if she comes with me, I can protect her. She'll no longer need to fear the Chantry and she can use her gifts to help defeat the Blight." Duncan paused to quietly watch Anders struggle with the choice before him. "You could come to Ostagar as well - your abilities would benefit the Wardens in the coming fight."

This was a possibility Anders hadn't considered for himself - to become a Grey Warden and devote his life to fighting darkspawn. But there was the rub; his blood ran cold at the very idea of _devoting_ himself to any one thing, or person, for a lifetime. How would that differ from what he fled at the Circle? Suddenly a few angry Templars didn't seem quite so dangerous when compared to a darkspawn horde or an archdemon. "I've never been a joiner or one for causes, really. As much as I appreciate the offer, and as much as I like the idea of telling the Chantry and the Templars where they can shove it, I don't think becoming a Grey Warden is in my future."

Anders rose to his feet, pacing the chamber as he further considered Duncan's words. Assuming she was in the custody of the Templars, it wasn't like there were options - either Duncan conscripted Zoya or she remained in captivity. Perhaps she could escape and they would be reunited, but where would they go? No, it would be better for Duncan to conscript her into the Wardens. With Duncan, she could be more than just an apostate on the run. "You swear you'll keep her safe? That she'll never need to fear the Chantry or its Templars again?"

Duncan nodded, his face solemn. "I swear it. Zoya is the nearest thing to a daughter I'll ever have. I'll do everything in my power to ensure she is protected."

Duncan's resolve chased away the last of Anders' doubt; he clasped the Warden's hand in gratitude, sure the relief was apparent on his face.

"So what will you do now?" Duncan asked.

Anders swallowed the lump rising in his throat. "Now I catch my ship before it leaves without me, if it hasn't already." Anders strode toward the exit, pausing as he stooped to pick up his pack. "Could you tell Zoya…" _Tell her what? That I care for her? That I'm sorry I'm leaving? That I'm only leaving because she deserves better?_ Anders shook his head, "No, never mind. It's better this way…" He called a wisp to him as he moved along the passageway toward the panel leading to the docks. He ignored the ache in his chest – this was the right thing to do. Zoya was better off with Duncan and the Grey Wardens.

~oOo~

As Zoya stood outside the door leading to Bann Vaughan's private chambers, she glanced over her shoulder at Soris. The elf was fidgeting, tugging at his stolen armor with shaky hands. Even with the straps pulled to their tightest, the guard's armor hung loosely on the elf's slender frame. If their circumstances weren't so dire, she might have teased him about looking like a small child playing dress-up. "Are you sure you want to do this? I could go in alone and you could wait here on the stairs until I give the all clear."

Staring at her in disbelief, Soris stopped pulling at the armor and drew the sword, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt and raised the shield. "Shianni's _family,_ and Nola might as well be! They don't deserve this fate - no elf does! I have as much responsibility for their safety as you. Maybe if I'd been less drunk or a better fighter, we wouldn't even be in this mess."

Laying a hand on Soris' shoulder, Zoya offered a grim smile, "And maybe if I hadn't been out playing thief and had stayed in the Alienage tonight, I'd have been there to help fight off the guards and no one would have been captured or killed. Or maybe we would have all been killed on the spot. We can't dwell on what-if's right now - we need to focus on getting all of us back to the Alienage safely."

"Yeah, I know - you're right. Let's just get this done so we can go home." His words were brave but Soris paled, his voice trembling as he spoke.

Zoya pulled Soris into a quick hug, taking a deep breath before releasing him and pressing her ear to the door. The wood was heavy and she couldn't hear anything useful, just the quiet rumbling of male voices. Perhaps Shianni and Nola were in a different room? No matter, Zoya would tear the estate apart to find them if needed. Using the pilfered keys, she unlocked the door and pushed it open slowly, peeking through the growing crack and hoping the clicking lock or squeaking hinges didn't attract attention. They seemed to be entering directly into the bann's private quarters- she shuddered as she considered the kind of man who would have a dungeon adjoining his bedchamber.

There were three human men in garish noble garb standing with their backs to Zoya and Soris - they didn't seem to notice the intruders. It only took a moment for Zoya to realize what had the men's attention - the two elven women lying in pools of blood on the floor at their feet. Nola's dead eyes stared blankly in their direction, and Shianni was completely still and curled up in a ball facing the opposite wall. Zoya growled in surprised rage, pulling the daggers from their sheaths on her back. "You bastards!"

The men turned toward the elves in bewilderment. One of them, she assumed the leader, spoke, "My, my... what have we here? Another pretty thing comes to join our party? I fear I've exhausted my other female guests."

The dark-haired human clapped the leader on his back and smiled, "Don't worry, Vaughan, we'll make quick work of these two!"

Vaughan glared at the man, "Quiet you idiot! These two have made it through the dungeons and into my private quarters. What do you think that means?" The other man stared at him with a blank expression. "It means, you moron, that they've defeated my guards."

Zoya twirled the daggers in her hands and stalked forward with Soris just a step behind. "You're going to pay for what you've done, shem!"

Vaughan raised his hands in surrender, "Alright... let's not be too hasty here... Surely we can talk this over..."

Zoya bit down hard on her tongue, trying to stop the words from spilling over as her rage simmered just below the surface. What she really wanted to do was gut this vile human and stretch his entrails from one side of the estate to the other. "Do you really think you can talk your way out of this?"

"Think about what you're about to do. Kill me, and you ruin more lives than just your own. By dawn the streets of the Alienage will run red with elven blood." Vaughan took a step away and crossed his arms. "Or we could talk this through, now that you have my undivided attention."

Frowning, Zoya's eyes lingered on the still form of her cousin. "We'll tell the city what you've done here! No one will blame us..."

Vaughan sneered, "You think people care about elven whores? You think my father will ignore my death simply because I used some animals as they were meant to be used?"

The bann's voice struck her like a backhand. Zoya knew that there were humans who considered elves to be no better than livestock, but to have this man say the words to her as he stood over the body of her cousin... "We're not animals!"

Vaughan waved a dismissive hand, "A poor choice of words perhaps, but you understand. You'd risk everything you know on petty revenge?"

"I've come this far, it's a little late to turn back now." Zoya's hands tightened on her weapons.

"But Zoya, what if he's right? What if they purge the Alienage again?" She glanced at Soris as he spoke, keeping Vaughan and his companions in her sights. His face looked pinched and pale, "My parents died in the last purge. I don't want to lose any more family or friends just so we can get revenge."

"You'd do well to listen to him. Do you really want to be the cause of that?" Vaughan pointed out in a cruel voice.

Zoya cringed, remembering the last purge. So many elves had been lost in the violence. The humans had blamed rioting in the Alienage for the deaths, but Zoya knew that wasn't true. She pushed the memories away. "This is about more than revenge or even vengeance, Soris. Look at what they did to Nola and Shianni..." Zoya's voice cracked with emotion as she spoke her cousin's name. She turned then to Vaughan. "How many others will you hurt? How many more will suffer at your hands? This is about justice – some things can't be left unpunished. Besides," she turned back to her cousin. "There'll be another purge whether we let him live or not."

Soris swallowed hard, "If-if you think it's the right thing to do... I've got your back whatever you decide, Zoya."

"Bah! I always regret talking to knife-ears!" An ugly sneer cut across his face. "You could have done the smart thing and walked away, perhaps with gold in your pocket. But now I'll just gut your ignorant carcasses instead." Vaughan drew his sword from its sheath and looked at his companions. "Don't just stand there, you idiots - kill them!"

The lighter haired noble was the first to move, lunging for a crossbow set on a side table. As he lifted it to take aim at Zoya, she rolled out of the way, tucking one of her daggers into her boot so she could grab a throwing knife from a hidden pocket. She loosed it in a fluid motion; the knife hit its mark, sinking deep into the human's neck. His grunt of surprise ended in a gurgle as he drew his last breath and sank to the floor.

Zoya whirled to face Vaughan, retrieving the weapon from her boot in time to catch his sword in her crossed blades. Shifting her weight, she tried to throw the noble off balance, but he'd anticipated that and shifted his weight onto his back leg. Keeping her face neutral in response to his smirk, she circled the human, feigning attacks to gauge his responses. He was obviously a trained duelist, but his movements were predictable and soon Zoya felt her focus drifting to her cousin's fight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Soris and the remaining lackey circling each other. The men settled into a rhythm of strikes and blocks; Zoya recognized that Soris was lulling his opponent into a predictable pattern as he looked for weaknesses. It was risky, because it could allow a more skilled opponent to do the same. The human was strong and every blow that Soris blocked with his shield was accompanied by a grunt of pain. He wouldn't be able to hold up for long unless he found an opening and went on the offensive.

Vaughan lunged at Zoya, trying to take advantage of her apparent distraction, but she had continued tracking his movements and was faster. Dodging the thrust of his sword, she trapped his arm against her side and stepped into him as she drove a dagger into his groin. He cried out in pain, his eyes growing wide as he dropped to his knees. "Please... it's not too late to walk away from this. I can give you as much gold as you can carry. You just have to let me live..."

Zoya leaned in to whisper in his ear as she twisted the dagger, "All the gold in Ferelden couldn't stop me from killing you. This is for Shianni and Nola and all the other women you brutalized over the years, you sick bastard." Pulling the dagger free, she spun and sliced through the human's neck.

As Vaughan collapsed to the floor, the remaining noble shifted focus away from Soris, his face filled with horror at his lord's demise. The young elf took advantage of the opening, knocking the man's sword to the side with his shield and impaling him through the chest. It was a quick death, which was more than the human had deserved.

The man's blood dripped from the sword as it pulled free. Soris dropped it with a clatter, wide eyes darting between the gore on his hands and the human he'd killed. "He's…he's dead! They're all dead!" A whimper clawed free from his throat, and his terrified gaze flew to his cousin. "Tell me we did the right thing, Zoya!"

"It's a little late for regrets, don't you think? Besides, he forced our hand." Zoya avoided looking at the dead men as she moved toward the elven women, kneeling first beside Nola and closing her vacant eyes. She rose and took slow steps toward Shianni, not wanting to accept that her cousin was gone. Tears burned in her eyes as she looked up at Soris; he stood several steps back from the women, his face buried in his hands to avoid looking at their still forms. Dropping to her knees next to Shianni, she brushed the hair back from her cousin's bruised and swollen face. The young elf's skin was still warm.

Gasping in astonishment, she rolled Shianni gently to her back and laid an ear against her cousin's chest. Her heart was beating - it was faint, but it was still beating! "Soris, she's still alive!" Zoya drew on her healing magic, channeling it through herself and into her cousin.

Soris knelt opposite Zoya, his voice desperate. "Can you save her? Will she be alright?"

"I don't know... her injuries are severe and she's lost too much blood..." Zoya feared the damage to her cousin was beyond what she was able to fix. Cursing her inadequacy, her hands shook as she guided her magic to stop the bleeding. _Oh Maker... Please don't let her die... _Given enough time and potions, Zoya was sure she could heal the worst of Shianni's wounds, but she sensed there were other more elusive injuries. If only Anders was here - Zoya didn't doubt that he'd be able to heal her cousin beyond what she was able to do.

Her heart flip-flopped in her chest; Anders was back in the tunnels awaiting Zoya's return. All she needed to do was stabilize Shianni and get the young elf to him. "We need to get her back to the Alienage right away - I know someone who can save her."


	12. Chapter 12

He drifted through the chamber, ghosts of what had been and could never be assailing him at every step. Duncan hated to admit it, but he'd been caught off guard by his run-in with the mage. Irritation festered as their brief interaction continued to irk him. He'd expected to find Zoya here in the practice room, not a human apostate. And not only was Zoya missing, she was apparently in danger and in need of rescue. But there was the lad uselessly pacing the room, perhaps even as Zoya sat in a dungeon cell for participating in something that might not have been entirely her idea. Staying calm had been difficult - what he'd really wanted to do was wring the mage's neck - but he'd somehow managed to keep up an illusion of calm indifference during their talk. Ultimately, Duncan had gotten what he wanted - he was rid of the mage's unwelcome presence.

Duncan was thankful for a moment of solitude as worry for Zoya churned to the surface. He needed to come up with a plan to free his little magpie from her cage. Years of dealing with nobles in Ferelden had taught him to approach conscription carefully.

Mulling over his options, Duncan plucked a throwing knife from the splintered center of a wall-mounted target and paced the room. The familiarity of this beloved place, coupled with the well-remembered weight of the blade in his hand, momentarily lured him away from his strategizing. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to his memories. The phantom of Adaia's laughter chimed in his ear; she'd been tickled that he could never seem to sink a blade into the large wooden disk, something that even her young daughter had learned with relative ease. The girl had been giddy with excitement as she showed him for the first time how she could hit her mark, her small fingers hardly long enough to wrap around the blade's hilt. Opening his eyes, he whirled toward the target and launched the knife from scarred fingers, chuckling as the hilt thudded against wood. He'd always been better with weapons he could keep firmly in his grip.

He turned toward the tunnel entrance, the shining surfaces of swords in their racks drawing him in. It was clear that Zoya had been maintaining these weapons; she'd remembered that much of his lessons at least. The girl had been a quick study, hungry for everything he could teach her about weapons and fighting, and always diligent in her practice. Over the years of training with Duncan, her skills had grown. She'd gone from trying to replicate the speed and grace of her mother's fighting style to adapting his and Adaia's techniques to suit her own strengths, creating moves all her own. Adaia rarely joined in their sparring; she'd perch on the sleeping platform and watch them together, her face aglow with pride and love. Duncan would tease her later when they were alone that she was only watching them to dream up new ways to win when it was her turn.

A quiet smile touched his face as Adaia breezed through his mind - the deadly grace and fluidity of her movements as they sparred, the feel of her lithe form shifting under the supple smoothness of her fighting leathers, and the wicked grin that would light her face when she knew she had him beaten. The memory of her touch seared as it always did; this room hadn't been used _just_ for sparring. A tightness grew in his chest as he approached the sleeping platform on wary feet, his eyes closing as his hand carded through the dense pelts piled on the smooth wood.

His fingers tingled with the remembered sensation of Adaia's skin. During their years together, he'd memorized every inch of her - every scar, every freckle, and even the brand on her flank that no magic could remove. He lost himself to the memory of her silken skin under his callused hands, her expressive, emerald eyes giving away the depth of her desire. When first they'd met, she'd been so young, so passionate, so open with her feelings for him. He'd always loved the way she'd gazed up at him, adoration sparkling in her eyes, a soft, teasing smile tugging at her lips, and a flush across her cheeks...

The image of Zoya with the mage in the market flashed through his mind. The way the young elf had gazed at her companion... it reminded him of the way Adaia had once gazed at _him. Maker's breath, it's been far too long since I've seen it, but I know that look. How did I miss it before?_ Duncan suddenly felt a twinge of guilt about chasing the lad away.

He'd probably done Zoya a favor by running the boy off; it wouldn't benefit her to chase all over Thedas with the apostate. It was surprising how little convincing was actually needed for him to leave Zoya behind. Even so, Duncan had been so sure the mage would object or insist on going with them to Ostagar. But he'd barely made the suggestion that he conscript Zoya before the lad made a dash for the docks.

Duncan was confident in his ability to _nudge_ people into seeing things his way, but the mage had been far too easy to manipulate. In some ways, it almost seemed as if he'd been relieved the Warden was there to step in. He might have had genuine concern for Zoya, but Duncan knew the type - his self-interest would always be his top priority. While he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure her safety, that didn't seem to be as important to the mage. _How could the ass have allowed Zoya to throw herself at the Templars in his place?_

The sound of light, leather-soled footsteps approaching the chamber jarred him from his thoughts. A feminine voice cried out, panic cracking the dulcet tone. "Anders! Anders, I need your help!"

Duncan's breath caught as Zoya burst into the practice room, her pale face expectant as her gaze settled on him. Green eyes going wide, the light that shone from her raised fingers guttered and faded. Confusion marred her delicate features as she scanned the room and realized he was the only one there. "Duncan? What are you… Where's Anders?"

His heart thundered. How in Andraste's name had she managed to escape from the Templars?_ Maker's breath, the blood... is she injured? How much of it is hers? _But even from the arm's length between them, he could see no obvious indication of a serious wound. Much as he wanted to, he resisted the urge to approach and search her for injuries.

His mouth went dry as he recognized Adaia's fighting leathers, the very ones he'd commissioned for her so long ago. Even bloodied and battered, the resemblance between Zoya and her mother was uncanny - it was as clear to him here under the Alienage as it had been in the market. He saw her potential in the capable way she carried herself, the confident grace underlying her movements, the fiery will simmering just below the surface, the determined set to her jaw.

It was almost too much, being here in this place, surrounded by familiar things and finally face to face with Zoya. He fought to retain his composure as the years that had passed weighed heavily on him. She was no longer a child, no longer innocent to the horrors of this world. And yet here she stood, somehow having eluded the Templars. His heart swelled; had she lived to see it, Adaia would have been so proud of the young woman her daughter had become.

~oOo~

Zoya had rarely felt so afraid. Unwilling and unable to pull her cousins into the Between, they'd fled the palace by moving through the shadows, trusting elven servants they encountered along the way to help them evade the guards. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed before they reached the relative safety of the tunnels running under the city. Her uneasy gaze returned to Shianni's pale, still form at every opportunity, but she tried to keep her mind focused on her goal - getting the young elf to Anders.

Panic tightened her chest as she called out to the mage and got no response. Had he and Isabela not escaped the tunnels under the Chantry? He should be back here by now. She skidded to a halt as she entered the practice room, breath catching in shock. She'd hoped to find Anders, but _he _was here instead. Duncan - Commander of the Grey, her mentor, her hero - stood there regarding her, an inscrutable face hidden in the shadows of a thick beard.

She tore her eyes from him as shuffling footsteps sounded behind her, peering over her shoulder as Soris staggered into the room. The strain of carrying Shianni for so long was threatening to send him to his knees. Before Zoya could swoop in to keep Soris from dropping her, Duncan strode forward and swept Shianni into his arms, laying her gently on the sleeping platform. Glancing up from the young elf, his dark eyes implored Zoya to speak, "What happened? Are you injured?"

Zoya licked bloodless lips before dragging the lower one between her teeth, biting down hard enough to bring an involuntary wince as she wrapped her arms tight around herself. _Where to start? I killed the arl's son? _Even now, the grim truth of what she'd done writhed in her gut. When she didn't respond, Duncan turned his gaze on Soris, but the young elf only stared helplessly between Shianni and Zoya, avoiding Duncan's eyes.

Duncan stepped towards her, placing a resolute hand on her shoulder. "Zoya, what happened?"

His grip was strong and steady, his concern for her clear. Would he still be worried for her if he learned she was a murderer? She closed her eyes, a violent shudder convulsing her slender frame. _Now isn't the time to lose sight of what I need to do. I have to stay focused - find Anders and help Shianni. _Shaking her head, she ran her hands roughly over her hair and squared her shoulders."There's no time to explain. Did you see a human? Younger, tall, blonde, probably carrying a staff? He was supposed to be here..."

Duncan regarded her, his expression maddeningly neutral, "The mage? He was here when I arrived, but he left a short time ago. He said something about catching a ship."

The Warden's words stung like a backhand blow, her eyes widening as their meaning sank in. Her world trembled, threatening to turn the stone beneath her feet to quicksand and swallow her up. Spinning on her heel, she left Duncan staring after the quiet sound of her retreating footsteps.

The pounding of Zoya's heart echoed in her ears as she fled through the inky blackness of the tunnel. She trusted her feet to know the way as they flew along the smooth stone. _Why did he leave? I told him I would meet him in the tunnels, not on the ship! _She knew she should be relieved Anders had made it back safely, but any happiness she might have felt was sucked into the emptiness growing in her gut.

Instinct told her to halt before she reached the end of the tunnel; she blindly fumbled with frantic fingers for the switch to open the panel that led to the docks. _Maker's balls! I need to calm down. _She took a deep breath, releasing it loudly as she regained control of her digits. _I'm probably just overreacting. Maybe he went to the ship to insure Isabela won't leave without us. _The quiet click of the switch signaled her success, and she eased the panel open.

Zoya slid through the opening, her panic growing as Anders didn't appear. She moved quickly along the shadows of the crates toward the slip where _The Siren_ was moored. Even with the wind at her back, she could already hear the telltale sounds of a ship leaving port - the slap of oars hitting the water, the flap of wind catching the sails as they were unfurled, the shouts of a captain directing her crew. Zoya's feet quickened as a sob caught in her throat. The ache growing in her chest threatened to split her wide open._ He wouldn't leave me here. Oh Maker, he can't be gone! I need him! Shianni needs him... _

She skidded to a halt at the end of the last row of crates, splinters from the rough wood stinging her palms as she grasped for a tether to keep from collapsing. The sails of _The Siren_ glowed golden in the light of the rising sun as it moved off into the blue expanse, the view shimmering behind the veil of tears now spilling from her eyes. At any other time, she would have been transfixed by the beauty of the sight, but not now, not when her world was crashing in around her. She went still as she heard Duncan approach from behind, unable to tear her eyes away from the retreating ship.

His voice was gentle when he spoke her name, his concern for her apparent in the tone. "Zoya?"

The strong, reassuring pressure of his hands on her shoulders shattered the crumbling wall she'd built to contain her fear and that had happened that evening, all the feelings she'd shoved behind that barrier descended all at once and the crush of emotion threatened to drive her to her knees. "Oh, Duncan," she choked out as she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his armored waist.

The Warden staggered, the force of her slight weight knocking him back. Zoya felt him tense, and she peered up into his dark gaze, suddenly abashed by the conflicted expression on his face. It had been so long, and much had happened since they'd last seen each other. But for her, at this moment, none of that mattered. Perhaps it wasn't so easy for him. What if he hadn't forgiven her? She choked back her tears, stepping back from him with her head bowed. "I'm sorry. I..."

Duncan stepped toward her, tipping her chin upward with his gloved hand, concern-darkened eyes locking with hers. "My dear child, you've nothing to be sorry for." Gentle arms encircled her, pulling her in tight as she broke down, giving vent to her tears at last. She'd tried to be strong for so long, willed herself to stand tall... it was a relief to be weak for once, to allow someone else the burden of keeping her upright.

"He left, Duncan. He really left," she sobbed. "He said he would take me with him. I thought he cared about me. I thought I could trust him. But he's gone... he's really gone."

Duncan stroked her hair, his strong arms rocking her just as he'd done when she was still a child. "Shhh..." he soothed.

"And Shianni... I can't... Oh Maker. They hurt her, Duncan. There was so much blood. She'll die without his help! I can't lose her... I can't lose anyone else I love..."

"Everything will be fine. You'll see..." his deep voice was calm as he consoled her. "I know a mage who is more than capable of healing Shianni."

"What?" Zoya pulled away, one fist dragging across her eyes. "You know someone who can help?"

The Warden chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "You, my girl."

Zoya paled, shaking her head. "No, Duncan, I can't... It's not that simple..."

"Of course you can," Duncan cut her off, his voice firm. "You are your mother's daughter, and she taught you well. Magic is mind over matter. How many times did she tell you that? You imagine what you want, and then you will it to be so." Gripping her chin, he forced her to meet his eyes. "I know you, Zoya. I know what you're capable of. You have the knowledge, you have the power you need. What makes you think this Anders is the only one who can heal your cousin?" He stepped back, gesturing for her to the lead the way back to the tunnel entrance.

Zoya swallowed hard, her troubled gaze drawn to the retreating ship. _Maker's breath... why did he leave? I truly thought he cared for me as much as I did for him._ Memories tore through her - the euphoria of their magic mingling, the searing touch of his lips, the electric caress of his hands. She took a ragged breath, pushing the unwelcome thoughts away as she squared her shoulders. _It doesn't matter _why _- he's gone. He broke his promise and betrayed my trust. What more is there to say?_ Grief, anger and self-doubt swirled, building into a maelstrom. _Now isn't the time - I'll deal with it later._ With an effort of will, she closed her eyes, imagining that cursed ship carrying her unspent emotions and being sucked into a whirlpool, lost to the abyss. _If only... _Casting a final scowl at _The Siren_ skulking off toward the horizon, she spun on her heel and slipped into the shadows, racing back to the tunnels with Duncan on her heels.

~oOo~

Anders stood on the swaying deck of _The Siren_, his gut churning and his knuckles white from gripping the railing. He wasn't sure what was causing him the most discomfort - his guilt over leaving Zoya behind or the rolling of this cursed ship. The Denerim docks, that place where he'd nearly lost his life less than a month ago, receded into the distance. With the first light of day came the slow arrival of dock workers and ships' crews, and he watched as they scurried along the worn planks and jumbled crates.

While he was in the tunnels under the Alienage, the path had become so clear. The Warden was right – the Templars had his phylactery and would be hot on his heels. It was difficult enough to stay one step ahead of his pursuers, but if he had to also worry about Zoya? Besides, if she was with him, there was a far greater chance of her being captured and made Tranquil, or even killed. _Or of me hurting her…_ _I did the right thing – she's better off with the Wardens…_ Perhaps if he repeated it enough, he would even believe it.

"Why hello there, Sparkles." Isabela's hand slipped beneath his arm, clutching it against the soft curve of her breast. The woman continued to fidget at his back, but he ignored her obvious attempts to arouse him. When he'd climbed aboard_ The Siren_, she'd greeted him with a smug grin. She might have thought she'd won by getting him aboard this ship without Zoya, but he wasn't about to give her the pleasure of acknowledging it. She snorted, "Still pouting like someone stole your cookies I see. I thought you might be interested in seeing this." Isabela handed him her spyglass and nodded toward the docks.

With a suspicious glance at the pirate, Anders raised the bronze tube to an eye, letting his vision adjust as he swept the wharf. It took him a few moments before he saw her - Zoya was hidden in the shadows of the jumbled crates with the Warden. Duncan held her in a tight embrace, the silver gleaming from his gauntlet as it tangled in her hair. Conflicting emotions churned through Anders. He was relieved that she was alive and seemingly unharmed, but dark jealousy burned within him at the sight of Zoya and Duncan together. _If I'd stayed in the tunnels, that would be me holding her now._ He closed his eyes as he silently handed the spyglass back to Isabela.

She tucked the heavy tube into a case at her belt before sliding her hand up his arm to brush a lock of his hair back from his face. "So you see my dear mage, everyone can be happy. The little elf can run off and play hero with her delicious mentor, and you can head below deck and play cabin boy with your sultry captain. It's a win-win for everyone."

Anders wrapped bruising fingers around her wrist, shoving her away from him, "Knock it off, Isabela. I'm not in the mood for your games."

Pouting, Isabela rested a fist on her jutted hip. "I thought maybe your unwillingness to play was the elf's influence, but now I'm wondering if there isn't another reason. Maybe you've lost your edge, or maybe you're feeling a little unsure of your skills? Aww... or maybe you're only sailing at half-mast? The turtle's afraid to come out of his shell? You're missing your tent pole? Your little soldier won't salute?" She chuckled, turning on a heel.

"I said shut it, Isabela!" Anders blurted in a tense voice, his hands balling into fists.

"Aw... I could come up with those all day, lover." She snickered.

"Maybe you're thinking of one of your other conquests." Anders growled, nearing his limit with the pirate's teasing. "You know damned well that's never been a problem for me."

"Do I?" she purred, raising a suggestive eyebrow as her gaze traveled down to linger on the region in question. "It's been too long," she pouted. "Maybe I need you to remind me." She raised an eyebrow, the tip of her tongue tracing along the fullness of her lips.

He rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring her attempts to distract him. "I'm not that easy, Isabela." He turned to walk away.

"Since when?" She pressed on, "Come now, Sparkles! I thought you were a harder nut to crack than that." She laughed, regarding him through dark lashes. "I hope you get over it, whatever _it _is. I miss the old Anders; he was always _up_ for a good time." She sauntered away, an exaggerated sway to her shapely hips. Pausing at the entrance to the crew cabins below deck, she ran her hands over the boning of her corset before slipping through the heavy wooden door. "You know where to find me... _when _you change your mind."

He clenched his teeth, his hands tight on the rail as he peered again toward the dock in one last futile attempt to catch a glimpse of Zoya. _Andraste's flaming knickers - why in the Void did I leave?_ Logic fought to re-establish dominance, _She's safer not playing fugitive with me while I run from the Templars. She's better off without me. _The image of Duncan holding her, his hands stroking her hair tore through his mind. _Besides, now she has her precious Warden to take care of her. _The dark jealousy kindled moments ago leapt to life with renewed intensity. He forced the temptation of Isabela's proposition into his mind. _Why am I hesitating? _Turning his back on the dock, he ran his hands over his hair, familiar anticipation building as he stalked after the pirate.

_A/N - Thank you to the folks who have stuck with this story, whether you're a lurker or have followed, favorited, or reviewed. Hugs and kisses to my favorite beta-mommy Eve Hawke and my little beta-sister Etaine M. I don't know how I would continue this crazy story without you both :) And for those who are wondering what happens with Anders next, stay tuned for a forthcoming story focused on Anders and set in the Zoyaverse. *hugs*_


	13. Chapter 13

Zoya's eyelids drooped, her feet leaden as they navigated their way through the tunnels. Had it really only been one day since she'd woken up hung over and complaining about her bed? It felt like it had been a fortnight since the last time she'd slept - she'd trade all her pilfered Chantry baubles for an hour on that lumpy, old mattress.

It was that final push of healing energy that had exhausted the last of her already waning reserves. But it had been worth it to see Shianni's eyes flutter open and the color flood back into her cheeks. Sneaking a look at her cousin, she felt a surge of pride at what she'd accomplished. While the girl's wounds hadn't knitted as cleanly as they might have under Anders' care, she was alive, and that was the most important thing.

Shianni recoiled, her fingertips digging into Zoya's arm as a clumsily kicked stone clattered against the wall of the tunnel. She looked so young, so lost and vulnerable. Zoya could mend her physical injuries, but no healing power she knew of could speed Shianni's emotional recovery. Only time and love would do that. Tears welled in Zoya's eyes as she realized that she no longer had the luxury of time, that she wouldn't be around to help Shianni fully heal.

The Alienage would be the first place the Templars would hunt for her. It probably wouldn't take long for the palace guards to find the bodies of their lord and his cronies. A band tightened around Zoya's chest as guilt settled in; they'd been forced to leave Nola's body behind when they fled the palace. She pushed the image of the elf's lifeless eyes from her mind with a shake of her head. As dense as the average guard was, it would be obvious that the elves were responsible for Vaughan's death and come here to search for the murderers. If the Templars and guards didn't come for her, well… then there was _still _the marriage to contend with. She bit back a bitter chuckle - it was absurd to think she would put the looming threat of marriage in the same category as execution or Tranquility. It came down to the same thing, though. No matter which way she turned, someone wanted her... except the _someone _she wanted back.

This was not how she'd anticipated things would go following the Chantry heist. She'd imagined returning to the Alienage for quick goodbyes and giving her family a portion of her plunder before sailing off on _The Siren_. Giddy with the promise of adventure and romance, she'd pictured herself wrapped in Anders' arms as they watched Denerim fade into the distance. Instead, she was left behind to watch _The Siren_ sail off into the sunrise without her. Almost expecting to feel the anger flare to life again as her thoughts turned to Anders, she felt only a gaping emptiness in her heart left by his unexplained abandonment. She didn't have the energy to try to understand her fickle almost-lover. Given the uncertainty of her future, she needed to stay focused on getting through what was to come, not what could have been.

Anders had once called her naive and idealistic. She sighed heavily. She'd trusted Anders, believed in him. It had been so easy to fall for his charms, to develop strong feelings in such a short time. Naive? Foolish? Yes... those words certainly seemed to fit.

None of the party had spoken as they worked their way through the tunnels. A mess of angry voices brought everyone to a halt in the short alley that joined with the center of the Alienage. Tension was thick in the air, and Zoya strained to untangle the chaotic rant. A frown dragged at the corners of her mouth and creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. "It sounds like everyone in the Alienage is out there. The masses have been roused and they're not happy."

Turning her attention to her cousins, she flinched as she met haunted eyes. The events of the evening had aged the young elves, lending them a seriousness that had been absent before. Zoya recognized that look. How many times had she seen it in her own reflection? lt was so much harder to bear when she saw it in her loved ones. A knot formed in her gut as she realized that their worlds would never be quite the same. What she wouldn't give to turn back time to before the palace, before Vaughan...

Her heart ached as she watched Shianni smooth nervous hands over the borrowed dress and lean wearily against Soris. He absentmindedly held his sister, offering what support he could. Even when he was preoccupied, his instinct was to give comfort. But his focus was on his own hands, rubbing them together as if trying to wipe them clean. Some of Zoya's concern was soothed by the unconditional bond between her cousins, certain they would take care of each other after she'd gone.

Zoya's voice was as gentle as the hand she lay on her cousin's arm. "Soris, maybe you should take Shianni home. She needs her rest, and I don't want her to get caught up in this if things get out of control."

Shianni bit down on her lip, her cheeks paling as she protested. "I don't want anyone treating me like some fragile, broken doll." While her words were brave, the trembling in her voice betrayed her. She shifted her eyes to Soris, looking to him for strength as she tightened her arm around his and added in a stronger tone, "We go where you go."

Zoya shook her head sadly; even now Shianni was trying to put on a brave face. "There are some places you can't follow." She looked to Duncan for support.

Wariness ghosted across his face before it became an impassive mask again. Turning his attention back to the disgruntled rumblings beyond the alley, he spoke in a gruff voice. "No good will come from lingering here. I suggest you say your goodbyes quickly."

The three elves exchanged anxious looks, their hands latching tighter. Zoya knew Duncan was likely right, but that didn't make their impending separation any easier. _It's too soon. I'm not ready. Maker knows... life in the Alienage wasn't perfect, it wasn't even safe. But this was home, family - did anything else really matter?_ Taking a deep breath, Zoya turned to her mentor. "I understand. But... I need just a little more time."

Duncan's expression softened for a moment as he regarded her, conflict playing behind his dark eyes. Offering a tense nod, he murmured, "As you wish." His face was unreadable again when he turned back to the swarming crowd.

They tried to be discreet as they entered the Alienage's courtyard, but it didn't take long for the others to notice them. Gasps of surprise punctuated the grumbling as their presence was noted; frantic whispering swelled as the companions worked their way through the throng. For a moment, the feeling of family that Zoya associated with her people came through as concerned hands reached out to offer comfort to the young elves, to show relief that they were home and safe. Their faces were a blur as Zoya nodded absently and continued to push her way through the crowd, her hand clasped with Shianni's in an effort to keep the girl close.

The bonds of kin and kind were strained as angry muttering and scowling faces shifted toward Duncan, the lone, armed human. Zoya fell into step at his side, keeping Shianni between them even as she guarded his flank. Silent prayers formed in her head - _please don't let anyone get any foolish ideas_. Some of the younger elves had gathered weapons, most of which were improvised and snatched up in haste - kitchen knives, the leg of a chair, a broom handle, a fallen branch from the vhenadahl. These hotheads stalked restlessly among their elders, faces contorted in barely restrained rage as they bristled with the need to exact revenge. _They have no idea what they're in for,_ Zoya thought sadly._ If only they really knew what it was like to feel the death of another person at your own hands, to see the light snuffed from your victim's eyes..._

Zoya searched the crowd, catching a glimpse of her father and Valendrian standing on the platform near the vhenadahl. They looked as if they'd aged since she'd last seen them. Their faces were drawn, their skin ashen with dark circles around their eyes - all evidence of their sleepless night. Zoya was suddenly taken by the thought that both men had looked to today with anticipation. It was to be a day of celebration for family, clan and community. Both the platform and the old tree had been decorated with garlands of flowers and paper birds. But now the decorations hung in tatters from the branches and were being crushed underfoot, much like the dreams destroyed during these last several hours.

On the edge of the platform lay three shrouded bodies. Soris had told her that other elves had been killed in the earlier violence, but to see them there turned her stomach. These were elves she'd known her whole life - they'd shared food and drink, coin and song, and together they'd dreamed of a better life... a life they'd never have now.

Zoya knew that once things calmed down, Mother Boann would come to minister to their families, taking the remains with her for cremation in the Chantry. But would the riotous elves let things return to the tentative truce that existed between the humans and her people? Zoya hoped they could put an end to the cycle of violence before it spiraled further out of control. Vaughan's words echoed in her ears, _the streets of the Alienage will run red with elven blood_. She tore her eyes away from the wrapped bundles. It could have been so much worse - just hours before, these three young elves had been celebrating with her cousins. Shianni and Soris could also be lying lifeless under those shrouds. Images from the last Purge cut across her thoughts - bodies stacked on the platform like kindling, the piles growing faster than the Chantry could cremate them.

Relief smoothed the lines from Cyrion and Valendrian's faces when they spotted Zoya, Duncan and her cousins slipping through the crowd. But as her father's eyes settled on Duncan, a scowl twisted his features. Valendrian lay a hand on Cyrion's shoulder, leaning close to speak in his ear before gesturing for them to join him on the platform.

The tension around them only intensified as they neared the Elder. He lifted his arms to get the crowd's attention as he raised his voice to speak, "You see… our missing kin have been returned to us! There is no need for further violence."

Voices rose and fell as the elves shouted their dissenting opinions and seized on the opportunity to rehash old grudges. Some insisted they still wanted to go to the palace to exact justice for the elves that were killed. Others wanted to avoid further violence and spoke in worried tones about the possibility of another Purge.

Valendrian pulled them to the side, ignoring the chaos all around them. His eyes widened as they scanned Zoya and Soris, lingering on the daggers on her back and the blood on his clothes. "What happened? Where's Nola?"

Zoya's mouth went dry, suddenly nervous as her father and the Elder focused on her. "Nola didn't make it. She was killed by Vaughan and his men. And Shianni was… injured. There was a fight... The humans that did it are dead."

Valendrian rubbed inflexible fingers in weary circles along his temples, the age lines deepening in his face as sadness filled his eyes. "Maker preserve us." He turned to Duncan, "Thank you, my old friend, for returning these young ones to us."

Duncan shook his head, "It wasn't me. They managed to escape on their own - I didn't encounter them until afterward."

The clamor of armor broke through the noises of the crowd, and Zoya's heart stopped beating. She froze in place, suddenly aware that the next few moments would decide her path. Weary muscles twitched, the urge to flee washing over her. As the armed men rounded the corner, she could tell she wasn't the only one feeling anxious. It hadn't been that long since the last Purge, and the sound of heavy armor usually meant bloodshed was to follow. Frightened looks flew from face to face as many of the elves scurried for the relative safety of their homes. A familiar dread shuddered through her as the morning light reflected off the Templars' heavy plate. The three armored men marched along the worn cobbles, a half-dozen City Guard flanking them. As they reached the platform, the Guard Captain nodded to the Templars, establishing his authority as he strode forward.

Valendrian offered the human a curt nod, "I suppose you've come in response to the disruption here last night?"

"Don't play ignorant with me, Elder! You'll not prevent justice from being done." The Guard Captain swept stern eyes over the assembled elves. "I'm here in search of one or more fugitives. Bann Vaughan is dead, along with Lord Jonaley and Lord Braden - the lot of them slaughtered like Summerday festival pigs." He gestured for the mage-hunters accompanying him to step forward. "And these Templars tell me that they are seeking a maleficar that escaped from the dungeon last night. Based on what I learned from questioning the witnesses, I believe we may be looking for the same fugitive and her accomplices, and they are likely here in the Alienage. I will be questioning your people until they are identified and then I will take those responsible into custody. If you want to avoid further unpleasantness, I need names and I need them now!"

Zoya tensed, taking a deep breath. _This is the moment... _An eerie calm settled over her, the path suddenly clear. Shianni and Soris lunged to stop her as she moved to step forward, but she was too quick. She felt almost giddy when she spoke, but her voice was strong and steady. "It was me. I did it."

Zoya stared defiantly into the crowd, watching with grim satisfaction at the shock on their faces. Surprised gasps were followed by fierce whispers, even as the elves nearest the platform recoiled in fear. But for the moment, their fear meant nothing to her as she realized how strangely freeing it felt to no longer have to hide what she was. It felt good, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, to be rid of the magical secret she'd carried for so long. Even so, she avoided looking back at her father, not wanting to see the disapproval and disappointment on his face.

The Guard Captain looked at her incredulously, "You? I know you, girl. You're a troublemaker, a prankster, but you expect me to believe that _you_ are the maleficar? That one woman is responsible for all those deaths?"

She arched an eyebrow at the human. _Who in their right mind would admit to being an apostate if they weren't? _Grimacing, she felt her power rising unbidden, the urge to set herself aglow or conjure a lightning ball in her hand as proof nearly overcoming her. Her magic sputtered when Duncan placed a restraining hand on her arm.

A deep voice echoed from within a polished helmet as Zoya felt the Templars building their power to strike at her. "She does fit the description."

The Captain regarded her for a moment, "You have saved many by coming forward. I don't envy your fate, but I applaud your courage." He turned to address the few elves that had remained. "This elf will be returned to the dungeons where she will await the arl's return, unless the Chantry determines otherwise. The rest of you will return to your homes."

Duncan stepped forward, "Captain, a word if you please?" He paused, waiting until the Captain turned and acknowledged him with a terse nod. "I hereby invoke the Grey Warden's Right of Conscription. I will take this prisoner into my custody."

Duncan had suggested she join the Grey Wardens while she was healing Shianni in the tunnels. It was a solution to her problems - to save her from execution for the death of the bann and others in the castle, or worse, being taken to the Circle to be made Tranquil. It was an easy choice; she'd longed to become a Warden for as long as she could remember. To be given the opportunity now, just when things were bleakest... Zoya hadn't been certain it would work, but to see the Commander of the Grey announce to the Captain that he was conscripting... She fought back the triumphant grin tugging at her lips, resisting the sudden urge to stick her tongue out at the Templars.

"Son of a tied-down…" The Captain dragged a hand across his face, sighing heavily, "Very well, Grey Warden. I cannot challenge your _Right_, but I ask one thing – get this elf out of Denerim... _today_!"

Duncan nodded, his dark eyes serious and his mouth set in a firm line beneath his beard. "Agreed." Zoya watched, fascinated by this side of Duncan that she'd never seen before... this wasn't her roguish mentor, but the Commander of the Grey. His face was a neutral mask and his voice firm, his bearing demanding respect.

"Now I need to get my men out on the streets before word of this hits and the masses become convinced that you elves are going to riot." The Captain motioned to his troops, "Move out."

The guards turned to file out of the Alienage, but the Templars paused for a moment. Zoya held her breath, their hateful eyes boring into her as she wondered if they would deny Duncan his Right. The tension grew as they glared at each other. The air vibrated with it as her magic surged, begging to be released, in response to the growing threat of their cleanse. She exhaled quietly as she felt their power dissipate, her own mana fading in response. A surge of triumph lifted her heart as she watched them turn on their heels and stride after the departing guards.

Duncan lay a hand on her shoulder, "You're with me now. Take Shianni home, say your goodbyes, and gather anything you want to take with you. We need to leave as soon as possible."

Zoya turned to Valendrian, her cousins, and her father in turn. The reality that she was actually leaving this place struck her silent.

Valendrian sighed heavily, "Well, I guess Duncan is getting his recruit after all." He extended his hand, gripping Zoya's arm before pulling her into a hug. Clearing his throat, he released her, "If you'll excuse me, I must tend to our people. Goodbye young one, and Maker keep you."

Cyrion's eyes were guarded as he stepped forward, hesitating for a moment before awkwardly pressing a key into her hand. "Your mother would have wanted you to have her things – take what you want." He glared past her at Duncan, his arms crossing. "The Grey Warden is waiting and I'm sure your cousins would like to say their goodbyes. I'll meet you at home shortly."

She gripped the key in her hand, the jagged edge cutting into her palm. Hot tears burned in her eyes as she silently nodded to her father. _He's disappointed, ashamed of my curse. I've become the monster he'd feared when he demanded I be sent to the Circle._

Shianni's slender fingers twined with hers as Soris' strong hand gripped her shoulder, their quiet support lending her strength as she mutely turned and led them in the direction of home.

~oOo~

As they trudged along the cobbles, Zoya tried to ignore the lingering groups of gossipers, their heads inclined toward each other as they spoke in hushed tones. Well... maybe she couldn't ignore their mutterings, but she would do her best not to react. Apparently the joy of their return wasn't to last...

"They brought this on themselves. If they would have been home in bed instead of drinking in the street... if they hadn't fought back ..."

"I always knew that child would be the doom of us all. Look at what she's caused..."

"She's wild, just like her mother - it's all in the breeding..."

"Those children were always getting into mischief, always causing trouble..."

"I knew all along she was an apostate. Why Cyrion allowed her to stay here is a mystery. It's her mother's influence no doubt. That girl should have been sent to the Circle..."

"We've all heard stories about what happened in the castle. About what the bann and his friends did to elves in that place. Do you think... Those poor girls... As if Cyrion wasn't having a hard enough time finding husbands for them..."

Zoya kept her eyes focused ahead, fighting the urge to throw her hands over Shianni's ears to block out the petty whisperings. Her cheeks burned, tears springing to her eyes as she bit her tongue to stop from lashing out at her fellow elves. _They have no idea... it could have easily been one of them._ Their words stoked the anger building within her; she felt the blaze ignite as Shianni's grip tightened on her hand. The young elf's face was pale and pinched, tears shimmering in bloodshot eyes. Zoya gave her cousin's hand a reassuring squeeze and quickened their pace toward home.

"Zoya! Hey Zoya, hold up a minute." Nelaros trotted toward her.

Zoya's mouth went dry as she watched the young elf approach. Turning to offer an apologetic grimace to her cousins, she handed Shianni off to Soris. She was hoping to avoid talking to her betrothed, not sure what to say or how to say it. "Ummm... I'm in a bit of a hurry. I need to get Shianni home - she needs rest."

"I understand. I won't keep you long." Nelaros regarded her quietly, a frown cutting across his handsome face. "So I guess this is it? You're off to join the Wardens then?"

Zoya quirked an eyebrow at the elf, surprised at the disappointment in his voice. She'd never considered that he might actually be enthusiastic about their marriage, or wouldn't be anxious to be rid of her after finding out she was an apostate. "Well, it was either that or execution. I thought the choice was a simple one."

Nelaros' smile was sad, "Seems like you made your choice when you left the Alienage last night." He stepped toward her, one hand reaching out to tentatively stroke her cheek before leaning in to brush feather-light lips against hers. His hand lingered against her face as he withdrew just enough to gaze into her eyes. "Just so you know, I would have done everything I could to make you happy."

Her cheeks burned, and she was left gawking at him as he walked away with a bit of a swagger in his step. _Well… that'll certainly give these hens something to squawk about. You have to give him credit for his boldness_.

Soris chuckled at the dumbfounded look on Zoya's face. "Rethinking your choice, cousin?"

Zoya shook her head, "As if _that's_ an option. Can't you see the introductions?" She changed the pitch of her voice to imitate Nelaros, "'Beloved family, I would like to introduce you to my new bride. She's a thief, a murderer and an apostate, but I think we'll be very happy together...'" A wry smile cut across her face as both cousins snorted in amusement. She turned and tugged at Shianni's hand, "Let's get home before we have any more awkward encounters."

They walked in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts. Soris shoved at the old door, grunting as he threw his shoulder against it. Candles flickered cheerfully at them as they moved through the room to settle Shianni on a bunk. Zoya sighed as her own weight sank onto the mattress, wanting nothing more than to curl up around her cousin and sleep for a week. She slipped her hand free as Shianni rolled onto her side and drew her legs up to her chest. Brushing hair from girl's forehead, Zoya leaned over to deposit a quick kiss on the cool, pale skin as she tucked a threadbare blanket around her.

Soris cleared his throat to get Zoya's attention, extending a hand to help her up from the bunk. Pulling her toward the hearth, he regarded her with a serious look, "She's going to be alright, isn't she? I mean, you healed her..."

Zoya turned toward the mantel, cradling her upper arms with chilled hands. "There's only so much I can fix with magic. She's going to need a lot of love and support, and I won't be here. She's going to need you, Soris." She regarded her cousin, struggling to remember the last time she'd seen him look so grim, so withdrawn into himself. A lump rose in her throat; she wasn't the only one responsible for taking lives at the palace. While he wasn't the one who entered that room with murder in his heart, he was going to have to live with the consequences of following her. Zoya stepped toward her cousin, clasping his hands. "I think you're going to need each other."

Soris swallowed hard as his hands squeezed hers. "I keep seeing that human's face, feeling the blade..." His face was suddenly tinged with green, "...slide into him." He squeezed his eyes shut as he took a deep breath, his voice cracking when he finally spoke again. "How do you keep going after something like that?"

Zoya ducked her head, chewing her lip. "I don't know... you just do what you have to and try to get through it." Tugging at his hands to get his attention, she offered a reassuring smile when he met her gaze. "I'd tell you that you have no reason to feel guilty - you only defended yourself, Shianni and me. But I know you'll continue to let it gnaw at you. Don't let it destroy the good in you, Soris."

His blue eyes brimmed with unspent tears as he searched her face. "I still can't believe you took the blame for what happened at the palace. You didn't have to do that – I'm guilty too. You really saved my hide back there. I don't know how I can ever repay you for what you did for me, for Shianni…"

She cupped his face in her hands. Did he really think he owed her for taking care of them, two of the people she loved most in this world? "I took the blame because I wanted to save you. It's not too late for you... you have so much to live for." Shaking her head, she gave him a lopsided grin, "Besides, there's no need for both of us to hang. And I knew Duncan wouldn't let them arrest me, so really not such a brave thing, right?"

Soris shook his head in bemusement. "You might not know this, but you've been my hero since we were kids. Now it's just official."

"Well... I only did what I had to do. I don't think anything I've done would qualify as heroic. Stupid maybe, but definitely not heroic." She shushed him with a raised hand when his mouth opened to protest. "So what now? What are your plans? Still going to get married to the old mouse?" Zoya grinned.

"Yeah, I think it's time I settle down and start acting responsibly. No more daydreaming. Valora is a good woman, and she has a lot of ideas for how we can make life in the Alienage better." His eyes glittered with excitement as he spoke, his face earnest. "Speaking of the old mouse... I better go find her. She's probably worried sick."

Zoya had to fight back laughter; never in this lifetime would she have guessed Soris would use the words _settle down_ or _acting responsibly_. "Good for you! If anyone can make a difference in this place, it's you. I'm only sorry I won't be here to see you get married." She pulled him into a tight hug, "I love you, Soris. Take care of yourself, and try to keep Shianni out of trouble."

His arms were a strong band around her as he buried his face in her neck, his voice gruff, "I love you too, Zoya." He held her for a moment before reluctantly releasing her, work-hardened hands continuing to grip her shoulders. "Be safe out there, and never forget you have a family here who love you and are here for you no matter what. We'll always have your back..." He kissed her cheek and pivoted on his heel, striding toward the door and yanking it open. Pausing with his hand resting on the knob, he turned back to her, offering her a reassuring grin as he stepped through and pulled it shut behind him.

Zoya stared at the heavy wooden door, a hollowness growing in her gut. Every day, for as long as she could remember, Shianni and Soris had been there. She couldn't imagine what her life would be like without their constant presence, nor did she want to. Running shaking hands through her hair, she chastised herself. _Now isn't the time to feel sorry for myself - I need to keep focused on doing what needs to be done. Duncan's waiting._

She pulled a small leather pouch free from her belt, pouring the pilfered coins and gems into her slender palm. All this misery for a few baubles. Rolling the shimmering wealth in her nimble fingers, she let all but a few coins slip back into the bag. Zoya tucked the gold pieces into her boots before setting the purse on the mantel - her family would need the money more than she.

Halting steps carried her across the room. Zoya crouched in front of her own trunk, gathering her few belongings and depositing them into her pack. It had been torturous trying to decide what to claim from the tunnels, finally settling on only the wooden daggers Duncan had carved for her so many years ago. He'd chided her for her sentimentality, reminding her that she would be lugging all of her possessions and necessary provisions on her own back. Besides, those things would remain safe in the tunnels until she returned to claim them after the danger of the Blight had passed. But she'd stubbornly refused to leave them, and had only offered a grumpy look to her mentor as she shoved them in her pack, along with a couple of extra knives and potions for good measure.

Zoya swallowed the lump forming in her throat as she finally approached her mother's trunk, using the key to unlock it for the very first time. Reverent hands moved over the precious goods. Once again she was torn... how could she be expected to decide what to take and what to leave behind?

She carefully set Adaia's wedding dress to the side, revealing her mother's blades and armor. What she currently wore was only part of it - there were also pauldrons, bracers, greaves, cuisse, and the breastplate. All were crafted from boiled leather and were made to wear over the form-fitting, lighter-weight gear she'd donned earlier. The cured leather of Adaia's chest piece was unyielding under her nimble fingers as she traced the Dalish designs. She wondered if the patterns meant anything... Perhaps Duncan could tell her.

Pulling the assorted armor pieces free, she set them next to her on the floor before wrapping her fingers around the hilts of Adaia's daggers. The Fangs of Fen'Harel, passed down to her mother through the generations, felt almost warm and alive in her hands. She slid out of her shoulder harness, pulling her simple sheathed blades from the leather strap and putting them in her pack before replacing them with her mother's twin daggers.

Shianni quietly approached, extending a hand to pull Zoya to her feet, "Here, let me help you." Together they strapped each piece of armor over the more supple fighting leathers. Once it was done and the shoulder harness had been refastened, Shianni gave her an appraising look. "It looks good on you. I think she'd be happy to see you wearing it."

Zoya chuckled and shot her a lopsided grin, "I feel a bit like a kid playing dress-up."

Shianni gave her a quick hug, "Well you don't look it. You look fierce - just like I imagined a Dalish would. I know you'll make us all proud." The young elf's smile faded, her face crumpling as the tears welled in her eyes. She covered her face and turned her back on Zoya, moving to collapse onto the bunk.

Zoya followed, sinking into the mattress next to Shianni. The young elf curled into Zoya's outstretched arms, the sobs shuddering through her as Zoya stroked her hair, quietly murmuring that everything would be fine.

The words tumbled free, Shianni's voice nothing more than a shamed whisper, "I can't get it out of my head... the things he did... I was so scared. I tried to fight him but that only made it worse." Shianni stared up at Zoya, her eyes wide and her face streaked with tears. "It's all my fault! If I hadn't bottled him - maybe he would have left us alone. So much death... so much blood... and it's my fault!"

Her cousin's pain threatened to tear Zoya apart. She fought back tears as she cupped the girl's face in her hands, "Oh Shianni... you can't blame yourself for what happened. When I was in the dungeon, I heard the guards talking. The bann and his minions went to the Alienage last night with a purpose, and nothing you could have done would have changed that." Her throat clenched against the rising bile, _And I'm no different than that monster. I went to his quarters with a purpose, and nothing could have stopped me from killing him, from craving the feel of his blood flowing hot over my fingers._ "But they can't hurt you, or anyone else, ever again. When the nightmares come, please take comfort in that at least."

Shianni's rasping sobs quieted, her breath calming as she clutched Zoya's hands in her own. Red-rimmed eyes caught at hers, "I still can't believe you took all the blame for what happened. You're amazing, you know." She sucked in a trembling breath as she fought back the tears, "I'm going to miss you so much. I love you, Zoya."

"I love you too, Shianni." Zoya pulled the young elf into a tight embrace. An ache bloomed in her chest. _Who will be there to sing away the nightmares, to wipe away the tears, to soothe Shianni back to sleep? I can't leave her now, not like this..._

The young elves clutched at each other, suddenly afraid to let go. They sat like that for several moments before Zoya reluctantly pried herself loose, duty's call too loud to ignore. "I better go, Duncan is waiting."

Shianni gave Zoya's hands one last squeeze and offered a tentative nod. As their eyes locked, both women knew that the longer Zoya lingered, the harder leaving would become. Rising wearily to her feet, she leaned down to kiss Shianni on the forehead.

A hopeful smile twitched at Shianni's lips, "You'll have to come back and visit when you can. And don't forget to write. I don't expect a letter every day, but once a week might be nice." Shianni wiped at the tears welling in her eyes.

Zoya nodded, giving her cousin another kiss before striding out of her home. Once out the door, she paused to look back, not sure if she would ever see it or her cousins again. The hollowness in her gut spread. When she'd considered leaving in the past, she'd never thought it would be this painful.

As she turned hesitant feet toward the gate, she spotted Cyrion approaching. His posture was stiff and his face was hard, his forehead creasing from the frown he wore. Her heart clenched, and she swallowed her growing misery. It was impossible not to anticipate the worst when he was glaring at her like that. She'd hoped this goodbye would be easier, and yet, nothing had ever felt more difficult. Zoya bowed her head, focusing bleary eyes on her own clasped hands. Her voice was coarse when the words finally came. "I'm sorry, papa. You must be so disappointed in me."

Cyrion's callused hand brushed a stray tendril from her cheek before grasping her shoulders. "My only wish was that you be safe." His eyes became distant even as his frown deepened, "Your mother would be proud, I think."

Zoya avoided his gaze, "But not you…"

"I can't deny that I hoped for grandchildren and family gatherings, but the Maker has decided you belong on a different path. Who am I to question?" He released her with a heavy sigh, scowling in the direction of the gate. "The Warden is waiting. Go now... before I embarrass us both."

Zoya watched, tears trailing down her cheeks as he turned away from her and strode toward the Alienage. She'd hoped for something more, but... _He's right to be disappointed in me._ "I love you, papa," she whispered to his back, dragging her hand roughly across her face as her feet carried her toward the gate.

Duncan's face was unreadable beneath the thick beard as he watched her approach. He offered an approving nod as he recognized Adaia's armor and daggers. "Are you ready to leave? We need to catch up to the caravan heading to Ostagar."

"Ready as I'll ever be…" She sighed, her eyes meandering once more over the familiar sights of the Alienage, the only home she'd ever known. The human guard glared at her as she paused and rested one hand upon the gate. The need to share a saucy stare or cheeky words briefly pulled at her. But in these final moments, dread flooded her bones, its smothering weight anchoring her in place. Images flashed through her mind of the shrouded bundles on the platform, the City Guard marching along the broken cobbles of the Alienage, some of her people fleeing as others stood firm and defended their homes. It was suddenly very hard to force air into her lungs, and her words were little more than a rasping whisper. "But what's going to happen here? It doesn't feel right just leaving like this. What if there's another Purge?"

Duncan lay a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him, and she reluctantly lifted her eyes to meet his. His reassuring gaze lifted some of the weight from her chest, enough to allow her to breathe again at least. "For the moment they'll be fine. There are far more important matters arising that endanger more than just your people. I needed a Grey Warden to help in our fight against the Blight, and I found one. That the Grey Warden is you and that conscripting you saved your life is only circumstance. You did what must be done - the Wardens need people like you, far more than the Alienage does."

Zoya nodded, fighting the urge to look back one last time. Again, the hollowness in her gut spread, threatening to consume her. The moment had come - she couldn't delay any longer. It was time to leave the Alienage, possibly never to return. She gripped the heavy timbers to support herself as her legs betrayed her. A dried rose thorn pierced the growing numbness of her skin, its sting sending a jolt up her arm and along her spine. Her eyes were drawn to the drop of blood as it blossomed crimson against her pale skin. In honor of her mother, she'd woven these flowers into the gate herself. She'd retraced her mother's footsteps as she stole into the deepest night to liberate the blooms from nobles and Chantry alike. This was yet another seemingly senseless thing Adaia had done, earning her the reproach of many who discovered her thievery, and yet there was deep purpose behind it. What point was there to life, if one wasn't free enough to live it? If there wasn't beauty or opportunity?

Raising her injured thumb to her lips, she realized Adaia would have wanted this, for her to join Duncan and the Wardens. She would want her daughter to be free of the Chantry, to have adventures, and to live a life that would allow her to use her gifts to help others. While Adaia had never been free of the Templars, life with Duncan had given her adventures and a sense of purpose. She'd given her own life so her daughter _would_ have that same chance.

With that thought, her burden lifted. Zoya plucked the dried bloom, placing it carefully in her pack before moving to follow Duncan through the gate. There was a whole world out there waiting for her. She turned her back on the Alienage and toward the Warden, toward her future.

_**A/N:**_A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has stuck with the story so far - we've reached the end of Part 1 (Origin) and now we can move onto Part 2 (The Blight). No thanks would be complete without sending hugs and kisses to my wonderful beta, Eve Hawke, and my lovely pre-reader and beta-sister Etaine M. As always, thank you to those of you who follow, favorite and review!


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